The Rejected
by Misti Wolan
Summary: Yoda's three. He freaks his caretaker out. His best friends are worse than he is. This isn't a Yoda story, though. This is about his friends.
1. Prologue

Summary:  
Here was my idea on the Sith Wars/Yoda's childhood thing before I knew there was actually stuff out there on it. The timing's wrong, I know; but I don't know how to fix it, considering I still haven't read any of the stuff.

Disclaimer:  
Star Wars belongs to you-know-who; and no, I did _not_ invent the Fallanassi White Circle. I just took the next logical step…

Author's Note:  
I know, I'm breaking the 'short paragraphs' rule, here. It's supposed to sound like a tedious news report.  
I'll warn any readers ahead of time, though: this is one of those elaborate stories the author isn't sure will ever get done. Its taken me a year to finish the first chapter of Part III—fan fiction is _not_ my primary writing. If there's interest and Part II gets posted, I can't vouch for how long Part III will take, sorry.  
Enjoy! :)

× PROLOGUE ×

Before the New Republic, before the Empire, before the heyday of the Jedi, Sith factions ruled the galaxy. Their reign was one of hate and fear. The few Jedi that existed were scattered.  
But the hate of the Sith did not only stretch towards the Jedi; it also extended amongst themselves. Over time, greed and lust for power overthrew any sense of unity that had seemed to exist among the Sith. They warred against each other, becoming weaker and weaker as the Jedi began to grow. Little by little, parents started contacting the Jedi when their children demonstrated unusual abilities instead of locking them away. The Jedi factions united, one by one coming to Coruscant, the center of what little remained of order in the galaxy. A young member of the oft-mocked 'Royal Family of Alderaan' disagreed with his family's collaborating with the Sith so they could be powerful. He led a rebel group. This supporter of the Jedi, Yakrino Organa, had converted a family estate on Coruscant into a 'Jedi Temple' for them.  
The Sith's rapacity was their undoing; they destroyed themselves, and the people of all the civilized planets looked to the Jedi to restore peace and justice to the galaxy. The Jedi, however, were limited in number; and the few Jedi Masters and Knights who existed were needed at the Temple, to train students.  
Even with most of the Jedi teaching at the Temple, there were not enough instructors to go around. Because the higher classes needed a more intimate setting to give learners the counseling they required, young pupils' Force training was rather limited.  
The nursery/nursery school was where the Force-sensitive children found themselves from the time they arrived at the Temple as an infant until there was a place for them in the next class. Normally this occurred when age six; but learners were chosen by faculty, not by age, so it was quite possible for a child's training to remain at an basal level while their peers were going beyond. At age eight, however, nursery children were automatically placed in the next class when a space opened whether they were the most capable or not. Any older, and the Masters feared the child's jealousy would become great enough to cause them to turn to the Dark Side.  
There was only one exception to this rule—Mana Lee. Given to the Jedi shortly before the Sith were wiped out, her entire planet was destroyed because of it. Although only an infant at the time of her departure, Lee remembered her family—as well as everything else she had ever seen or heard. Unfortunately, her unusual abilities seemed to end there, being unable to tap into the Force for anything beyond the rudimentary. Thus, she never went on to the higher training. Since Lee was adept on the level she was able to perform, she was the caretaker of the young children.  
Then a young Shi'ido was brought to the nursery. Her curly hair's usually vivid red and her piercing lime green eyes accentuated her pale gray skin. The other humanoids, although not all Human, at least looked normal, so the little girl was left to herself, given a wide berth by the others. Because of this, Mana Lee took special care of the young girl. It became apparent early on, however, that Lee's attentions were unnecessary. The child grew at an alarming rate; her mind developed even faster. At age five, she was removed from the nursery and placed in the next class, although she would still come to the nursery in her spare time to help.  
The girl grew, and her skills with a lightsaber were extraordinary. However, even when young she would take the offensive with the elder opponents, contrary to how she was taught. Her Shi'ido anatomy may have accounted for some of this, as she had as much endurance as the elder children as long as she did not shapeshift. Once, in attempt to teach her a lesson, the Masters placed her in a training exercise with a full-grown Twi'lek Knight, in attempt to get her to see the flaws in her fighting style. The nine-year-old wore out after an intense twelve minutes, collapsing in mid-stride, wrenching her knee and causing a chronic injury.  
Even that was not enough to convince the girl to change her ways. Her fighting was less offensive, but was still as aggressive as ever. The only reason it had even changed in that manner was with regard to her knee, which could start throbbing intensely without warning. After nearly two years of waiting for a Master, she was finally chosen as a Jedi's Padawan Learner. Elated, she went to say good-bye to Mana Lee, unaware she was soon to uncover Lee's biggest secret…

* * *

Author's Note:  
Review now, or when you finish Part 1. I don't mind which. _Just review_!!! I'll return the favor (though you might prefer not) & you can give all sorts of nitpicky critique & tear my story apart!  
Come on. You know you'll enjoy it!  
Little button…  
:) 


	2. Chapter 1

PART 1: Racara

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× CHAPTER ONE ×

The young, red-headed Shi'ido took her time on her way to the nursery, examining every wall, every door, every conduit with the care of someone seeing a much-loved place for the last time. Her time had come; after years of training and being top of her class, she had finally been chosen. She was eleven years old.  
Her extraordinary skills with a lightsaber and keen mind had resulted in her being placed in the senior class at age nine, and deemed ready for apprenticeship by age ten. Her aggressive fighting style, however, had made most Jedi searching for an apprentice loath to choose her, despite her skill. Finally, one had picked her! She was a Padawan Learner!  
At the nursery entrance, she paused, closing her eyes and listening to the little children's Force energy. A smile played her lips as she entered, knowing just who she'd see. She squatted, altering her size just enough to be on eye level with the tiny green toddler. He'd only been at the Temple three years, but she already knew he would surpass her in his accomplishments; he and his not-quite-Human friend, Heather. Oh, Heather looked Human, sure; the Jedi record even labeled her as one. Certain… things she'd noticed Heather do, however, led her to suspect otherwise.  
She gave the midget toddler a high-five, her lime eyes glinting. "Hey, Yoda! What's up today?"  
Yoda cocked his head to one side, his visage assuming a look of profound maturity. It was as though he were measuring her, determining what she expected him to do. Yoda _hrumph_ed, frowning, and looked down.  
She smirked. The fact was, she never expected anything in particular when it came to Yoda's behavior, so she got to see some rather interesting aspects of his personality that most people didn't. "Well?" she prodded, knowing full well the boy would answer her when good and ready.  
Finally, the green fellow decided how he would behave, which would probably be as a dimwit right now, as his ears lifted, brown eyes lighting up, and a mischievous smile played his lips. The Shi'ido's face broke into a grin. It was always fun when Yoda played stupid, because that was when he told you things that were important, like not to eat those cookies that had been sent from Jedi sympathizers on Corellia. (They had made everyone who had eaten them extremely ill, and the Masters had later discovered that the shipment had been laced with poison.)  
"Ah! What's up, you ask? What's _down_, the question is!" His bright, round eyes suddenly closed to slits as his ears lifted even higher, giving Yoda a malicious look. When he spoke again, his voice was sly. "Ah, Racara, more accurate, _who_'s down, is."  
Racara frowned as she considered what he could mean. She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Yoda. I don't get what you're saying. I'm gonna go find Mana. I'm leaving. Say 'bye' to Heather for me." She stood up, reverting to her natural height. Racara was about to enter the back room where Mana Lee had her living quarters when Yoda scurried in front of her.  
"No!" he rapped, swatting her shin.  
Racara scowled. Perplexed, she tried to step around the tiny toddler without hurting him.  
Yoda intercepted her. "Go in, you must not!" he reiterated.  
"Mana always lets me in!"  
"Not today."  
"Why not?"  
Yoda sighed, his ears drooping and eyes saddening as he looked down. "In an important meeting, she is."  
At that, Racara laughed out loud. "Oh, she just says that when she doesn't feel well so you'll leave her alone!" Ignoring Yoda's protests, she entered the room. "It's me!" Silence. "Mana?"  
She heard a grunt and _thump_ in the back. After a few seconds, Mana Lee came down the hall, looking harried. "Yes, darling?"  
"Are you all right? Yoda said you were in one of your so-called 'meetings'!" Racara laughed, not noticing the worry in Mana's lovely deep violet eyes or the skittishness with which Mana kept running her fingers through her naturally white hair.  
Mana Lee laughed with her, but nervously. "Well, I _am_ very busy." She gave an anxious glance towards the back, biting her lip. "I don't mean to sound rude, but what did you come here for?"  
Racara's face lit up at the reminder, not noticing the oddity of Mana's behavior. "I've been chosen!"  
Mana tried to smile. "Really, darling? Why, that's marvelous! Who's your Master?"  
"Jedi Knight Drevon!"  
The blood drained from Mana's face. "Drevon?" she whispered weakly. "Drevon?" Tears welling in her eyes, she pleaded, "Oh, Racara! Please tell me you didn't accept him!"  
Racara blinked, surprised at Mana's reaction. "Uh… sorry?" She tried to give Mana the answer in the least heart-rending way.  
Tears streamed down Mana's face. "No…" she groaned, shaking her head. "No… _No_!" she screamed. "_No! No! No! No! No_!" Her voice broke as she sobbed hysterically.  
Discomfited, Racara gave Mana a consoling shoulder pat. She thoughtfully scanned the room and hallway, then turned back to Mana. "You aren't alone in here, are you?"  
Mana Lee froze, paling. Racara had thought that Mana was white before, but now she was _really_ white, as in albino white. Her body quivering, her pleading eyes met Racara's. _Don't tell_ she mouthed, then uttered a sharp cry which sounded like "_yak_", slumping to the floor in a faint.  
A man came down the hall, going on the defensive when he saw Racara. "It's all right," she said quickly, eying the man's weapons arsenal. "I'm a friend." Two descriptions leapt to her mind: scruffy and brawny.  
The man followed her gaze, then smirked, placing his blaster and energy whip back into their respective holsters. "You may be a friend, but you're a Jedi first, right?" Racara cocked her head to one side, not following him. "In other words, the Masters are going to hear of this, right?"  
Racara shrugged, affecting nonchalance as her mind worked fast. "Well, that would be hard to do, considering I don't know what 'this' is!"  
The man gave her a sidelong look-over, brow furrowed. "How old are you?"  
"Eleven, sir."  
He waved the title aside. "Don't call me that, please! I'm called it more than I should be, I can assure you! More than I should be," he repeated, tenderly gazing at Mana Lee's unconscious form. He abruptly drew himself up, as if suddenly reminded of what he was doing. "You mean to tell me that you are eleven years old, and you haven't a suspicion of what I'm doing here?"  
Racara shook her head, eyes wide with only partially feigned innocence. "Nope!"  
The man eyed her warily, obviously suspicious. "Well, in that case," he ventured cautiously, "you won't tell the Masters you saw me here with Mana?"  
"No." Racara felt her neck redden as she figured out what it probably was that they didn't want the Masters to find out. "She's your paramour, isn't she?"  
The man, the process of sipping something from a metal flask, choked. Mannerly covering his mouth with the back of his hand, he shook his head, not furiously, but fiercely enough so as to leave no doubt as to his disgust without seeming rude.  
She scowled. "Then what are you so concerned about the Masters discovering?"  
The man, having caught his breath, replied, "No comment."  
Racara, meditative, nudged Mana Lee with her shoe. She awoke instantly, sitting up and getting to her feet in one fluid motion. Her gentle gaze scanned them, heavy-hearted.  
Racara noted this and tucked it away for future reference. "Excuse me, Mana, but who is this guy?"  
Mana's melancholy gaze met hers. "He's a friend of mine, Racara; a very good friend."  
Racara gave the man a cautious sidelong glance. You would think his unkempt dark brown hair and coffee eyes would make him seem average, but something about him attracted attention easily. "A bounty hunter?" she guessed, judging from the man's number of weapons and wear on their holsters that he had more than a casual knowledge of how to use them.  
The man snorted, taking a hearty gulp of whatever it was in his flask. "Sure! I'm a bounty hunter with a bonus on my head!" He rolled his eyes. "No, I'm a rogue."  
"Yak!" Mana's voice was unusually sharp.  
He held up his hands in a soothing manner. "All right! I'm a vagrant. Happy?"  
It was apparent she wasn't, but Mana nodded slowly. "That's better." Her lips quirked. "It improves my appearance, anyway."  
The man frowned, pondering what she meant. His eyes widened as he realized what he'd done. He laughed, abashed, anxiously apologizing to Racara, "I'm sorry. That must've sounded funny, saying we weren't paramours then calling myself a rogue. What I should have said was that I'm generally considered a rogue."  
"So who are you?" Racara pressed, aware that the respectful thing to do would be to keep her mouth shut. She never had been too good at that…  
The man gave her an amused, yet rueful, half smile. "If the Masters haven't told you about me, then you don't need to know." He turned and went down the hall, towards the back exit, as well as Mana's private domicile.  
Mana, meanwhile, enveloped Racara in a huge hug, so she couldn't tell whether the man left or not. "I'm going to miss you, Racara." After several seconds, Mana released her, her worried gaze boring into Racara's. "You take care of yourself, you hear?"  
The young Shi'ido nodded. "I will."  
Mana got up suddenly. "That reminds me, I have something for you."  
Racara followed Mana to a chest against her far wall that was covered with a hand-crafted throw. "Why were you so upset about me being apprenticed to Drevon?"  
Mana, rummaging through the chest, froze for a long moment. Sighing, she lowered her hands into her lap, forcing herself not to turn around to look at Racara. "There are some… strange incidents surrounding him." She combed through some data disks she had filed in a small box. "Sundry rumors hint that he's a Sith; or in the least a Dark Jedi. But one mustn't put their faith in mere hearsay." Mana's voice sounded appropriately dry for what she'd said, but the gulp she made afterwards left no doubt as to the fact that _she_ believed the rumors.  
Racara laughed outright. "Oh, come on, Mana! The Masters would know if he were a Sith! They fought them!"  
Mana Lee gave Racara a reproving look. "Are you so certain, young one? They can hide themselves well. But you're right about the Masters probably being able to detect his dark energy. That's why I'm leaning towards him being a Dark Jedi."  
Racara shrugged. "Sith, Dark Jedi, what's the difference?"  
"Plenty!" Mana rapped out. "A Sith has tenets they follow; doctrines of hate, of control, of power, and who but they know what else. A Dark Jedi is merely—and don't get me wrong from my using that word, they still are extremely dangerous—a person who uses the Dark Side of the Force, normally former Jedi."  
Racara shrugged, unmindful and rather bored. "Whatever. Look, Mana, I don't mean to sound rude, but I'm the one who's busy now. I really should be going. I told my Master I'd meet him for lunch ten minutes ago."  
Mana Lee nodded, her eyes taking in every detail of the young Shi'ido before her, unwittingly using the Force at a higher level than she had ever learned how to use it. That those features would remain in her memory a good long while, Mana had no doubt. Whether they would ever live long enough to mature, Mana could not dare to hope. She had her own personal reasons for believing what she did about Drevon, but who would believe her? She'd never completed her training. With these thoughts in mind, Mana wordlessly handed Racara a black pyramid-shaped box.  
She took it, smiling, and gave Mana another hug before leaving. "Thanks a lot, Mana! I'll come see you whenever we come visit the Temple!"  
Mana's lips could barely form the words as she weakly responded, "Happy apprenticeship, Racara."  
Her heart near breaking, Mana Lee watched her young friend go to what Mana knew could only lead to, at best, her death…  
  
"…The farm boy had such a sassy mouth that I used the Force to shove him into a mud puddle. After the contingent made it back to the palace, you know what I discovered?" His eyes lively, Jedi Knight Drevon leaned forward towards his new Padawan, telling her of past escapades of his.  
Racara, playing the part of eager listener, nodded, much to the surprise of her new Master.  
Drevon smirked, raising one eyebrow. "You do, huh? What did I discover?"  
"You found out that the farm boy was really the missing prince, didn't you?"  
Drevon regarded her with a look of approval. "Very good," he complemented, taking a Barabel fruit from the bowl in the table's center. "You catch on quick."  
Racara nodded, merely smiling_._ At one time, such praise would have caused her cheeks to redden with pride, but she knew better now. Her right knee started its familiar throbbing at the reminder. Drevon frowned, and Racara knew the sudden pain must have shown on her face.  
"Are you all right, young one?"  
Racara nodded sheepishly. "I suppose I should have told you: I have a chronic knee injury. It likes to act up every now and then. I'd rather have it ache than wobble or give out, you know what I mean?"  
Drevon nodded his agreement, his mien thoughtful. "A chronic injury in one so young… what happened?"  
So Racara told him of how the Masters had disagreed with her fighting style, and the many ways they had tried to force her to change it, climaxing with the training exercise with the Twi'lek Knight which had wrenched her knee…  
  
Mana Lee opened her eyes suddenly, roused from her meditation by a familiar presence. She was on her knees in front of the chest. She turned. "Yoda? How did you get in here?"  
His brown eyes met hers, and Mana knew that here was one child whose maturity rate would break Racara's record, both because of his high Force-sensitivity and species. "Followed Racara, I did," he said softly. "Take care of herself, she will."  
Mana struggled to keep her face from expressing the dolefulness she felt. Playfully mocking Yoda's odd way of speaking, which she knew to really be an accent left over from his native tongue, she queried, "So certain, are you?"  
To her surprise, Yoda nodded. "So certain, I am."  
Mana started, only then realizing what made Yoda so mature; _he was already experiencing visions_! She had known almost from the start that he would possess a very active sense of foresight; she just hadn't expected it to start so soon. As privately elated as she was with this latest tidbit she'd learned from a very Force-sensitive four-year-old, she felt obliged to teach him an important lesson concerning visions; one that she needed to be reminded of, herself.  
"Yoda, I'm sure you've had a dream where Racara's okay, but there's something very important you need to understand when you make a decision to trust your dreams; they only show the future as it _may_ be, not as it definitely _will_ be. Always in motion, the future is." She imitated his speech in the last statement in the hopes that it would stick in his memory, so that even if he didn't understand what she was saying right now, he would recall that much when he was older, and comprehend what she was trying to tell him. "Okay?"  
Yoda nodded slowly, although Mana Lee could tell much of what she'd said had been beyond him. He would remember it though, and when he was older—Mana froze. Here she was, thinking of what this little child in front of her would be recalling from what she'd said as if she wouldn't be there in a few years! Could it be that she was seriously considering _his_ proposition?  
Mana felt the blood drain from her face, her eyes misting as she looked down her hallway, to the door of her private study where she knew he would wait for her answer for the next ten hours. Then, he would leave. A week, a month, or perhaps even a year later, he would be back, again. Privately, Mana knew her heart had already decided; she wanted to go!  
"All right, are you?" the midget toddler in front of her asked.  
Brought back to reality by the young child, Mana tried to smile as she nodded. "Sure! Why wouldn't I be?" Her voice sounded weak even to herself.  
The brown eyes bore into hers, and Mana got the uneasy feeling that the four-year-old was reading her soul. A tiny part of her hoped he was; she felt so weighed down, so alone, in the decision she must make. She couldn't speak of it to any of her peers; love was forbidden for a Jedi. All passion was forbidden.  
Yoda bowed his head, closing his eyes and lowering his ears, a position he took sometimes, often right before he made one of his freaky declarations. After several minutes, during which Mana made some hot cocoa for the two of them, resisting the impulse to make some for the man in her study, he opened them. Taking his cocoa, which Mana put in a special mug made just for him, he thanked her, his mien downcast. "Go, you should," he said sadly.  
Mana would have laughed had her own heart not been so torn over this decision. Attempting to smile, but only succeeding in a small half smile, she shook her head. "You don't know what you're saying, darling."  
To her horror, the tiny boy nodded thoughtfully. "Right you are," he agreed. "Know what I am saying, I do not. Know what I have seen, I do. Go, you _must_, if see Racara again, you will. So the Force has shown me; so I tell you." At that, Yoda drained his cup, thanked Mana again for the cocoa, and left.  
Mana Lee, dazed, followed the teeny toddler to the door. She closed it after him, slumping against the wall, gasping for breath. She shut her eyes tightly, regaining control. Once her breathing steadied, she turned and entered the nursery. She looked about, blinking back tears. These kids needed her! She couldn't leave!  
But if she didn't go, she wouldn't want to live! She'd be dejected, heartbroken! Was that the example these young ones needed? That being a Jedi would destroy their lives?  
But she couldn't leave!  
But she had to!  
But she couldn't!  
But—But—But—But—Her face in her hands, Mana, in mental torment, screamed and burst out sobbing. The little children, thinking they were in danger, panicked, running all over and screeching themselves. Mana was in no condition to comfort them, having a great need for solace herself. Suddenly, all was quiet. All Mana could hear was the intense pounding of her heart. She looked up, and there was Yoda, speaking softly to the others, soothing them. His best friend, Heather, was helping him.  
When Mana saw that, she knew the nursery would be all right without her. She looked down at her hands, then back at Yoda and Heather, her gentle gaze much more perceptive than was apparent from its mildness, which was more fitting to a ingénue than one of intellect. Even many of the Masters—well, she might as well admit it, all of the Masters—mistakenly believed her too purblind for making any observations of importance. Just because she always _suggested_ the best of any person in all situations didn't mean that was what she _believed_. In those two children she saw great potential and strength of character. The Force swirled about the two toddlers, surrounding them… Her eyes narrowed. Was it her imagination, or did she just sense _something_ go through Heather a second ago? She felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned.  
"Yak!" she whispered, anxiously. "What are you—"  
"Uh, Mana?" a six-year-old boy who hadn't made it to the next class yet asked. "Who are you talking to?"  
Mana blinked, staring at the boy. "Who am I talking to, Terr?"  
Terr nodded. "Um, yeah. I don't know if you noticed, but there's nobody over there—oh, I'm sorry, I forgot about Mister Wall. Hi, Mister Wall." The boy, making fun of her, waved at the wall. "How are you today?" The kids old enough to understand what Terr was doing tittered, a bit reluctant to tease their elder so audaciously.  
By then, Mana Lee had figured out that by some trick of the Force, the others couldn't see Yak. She smirked almost maliciously, protesting in a motherly tone, "Now, Terr, don't make a fool of yourself in front of the younger children. If you need your doggie, ask me during nap time, okay?"  
Terr reddened. Having been taken from a family who had been farmers for centuries, he had an inborn craving to have creatures around him. His 'doggie' had been a source of comfort for him many a time, even recently. Extremely embarrassed by this sudden turn, he fled among the twits of the other children.  
Mana clapped her hands. "All right! That's enough! Time for meeting, everyone! Come on!" Sending Yak a scolding glance, she directed her flock down a hall to where the Masters met with them as a group for an hour each day. It had once been an hour a week, but Mana had protested; and, considering her lack of skill with the Force, the Masters had consented to increase the number of meetings.  
At the door to the meeting room, two Jedi Masters awaited her. "Any variation in your references since our last conference?" the younger one asked, merely as a matter of courtesy. The Masters had no faith in her recommendations, as they believed Mana too naive to have cognizance of anything meaningful; besides, her testimonials rarely, if ever, varied from what she expected from each child when they were first brought to the Temple.  
Today, however, was otherwise. Mana Lee nodded. "Yes, actually." She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I have reason to suspect that Yoda is already experiencing visions, and both he and Heather are astonishingly mature and well controlled."  
The two Masters exchanged a look, expressing their incredulousness at a four-year-old being ready to progress to the next class, much less being able to experience visions. The elder one solemnly stated, "We will look into the matter. You are dismissed, Mistress Lee."  
She bowed. "Thank you, Masters." Turning around, she realized Heather had dropped back and was at her side, tugging on her tunic. "Yes, darling?"  
Heather stood on her tiptoes to whisper something, and Mana squatted to be able to hear her without the Masters being able to. She would often look back on that moment with a shudder, thinking of what would have happened had she not done so.  
"Miss Mana, you might want to tell your sweetheart to get out of here. Shielding him took a lot of energy, and tricking the sensors is really taxing my limits right now."  
Mana stared at her, paling; then swayed, nervously licking her lips. "By the Force!" she whispered hoarsely and collapsed, nearly swooning. She shook her head in attempt to clear it.  
"Mistress Lee?" the younger of the two Masters asked anxiously. "Do you require assistance?"  
She looked up at him abruptly, her heretofore mild expression assuming a cagey appearance. After a long moment, she shook her head, thinking fast. "No, thank you. I… I'm just a little dizzy, that's all. I think I'll get a bite to eat and rest for awhile instead of my usual meditation, if you don't mind."  
The older one shook his head. "Of course not. This is your spare time. You could even go out into the city, if you so wanted."  
Mana blinked, surprised. "Really? So I can go to a restaurant or something at this time of day instead of meditating?"  
The man nodded. "Of course. Forgive us if you never knew; we took it to be understood."  
Mana smiled, actually managing a genuine one for what seemed like the first time that week. It had been a long day. "Oh, that's all right! We all have our misunderstandings!" While saying this, she was moving away, smiling and nodding as if her nearly fainting was routine. Once all the proper apologies and sympathies had been exchanged, she turned and progressed at a rather rapid pace to her suite, considering how she could use this last tidbit of information to help hide her private life…  
  
When Racara finished her narrative, her Master was silent. She feared she'd bored him with her tale, which she had made much longer than necessary, as she liked to talk. "Forgive me, Master, if I wearied you—"  
"Oh, no, not at all!" Jedi Knight Drevon interposed. "I was only thinking of what a pity it was that the Masters couldn't accept skill as they saw it, instead of trying to force it to conform to their laws."  
Racara hesitated, not sure how to respond to this remarkable statement. To be honest, she felt a bit taken aback, as no Jedi in their right mind would ever criticize the Jedi Code that the Masters had written to keep Jedi from turning to the Dark Side. She felt obliged to put in a good word for them. "Well, I _do_ fight aggressively," she pointed out, "and that's a sign of anger."  
Her Master shrugged. "So?"  
"Anger's a sign of the Dark Side!" Racara was shocked. Then, it hit her: _He's testing me, checking my loyalties._ Her lime eyes glinted and a mischievous smile played her lips. She lifted her head, meeting his gaze squarely. _I'll tell him what I am—a Jedi!_  
Drevon returned her gaze, his glacial royal blue eyes revealing none of the thoughts whirling around in his mind…

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Author's Note:  
Little button's still there. Waiting. For four more chapters… 


	3. Chapter 2

× CHAPTER TWO ×

The cloaked female humanoid pulled her threadbare hood even closer about her face, which was already sufficiently hidden. Fear radiated from her as light from a firefly; her protruding stomach was scarcely concealed by her cloak. There was a small restaurant ahead; dare she enter it? Hurr was well-known to the Jedi. With her luck, she would be bound to run into some Jedi visiting him. No, not her luck, she corrected, with her _destiny_.  
Or whatever it was that the Masters called the Force-predestined occurrences. They never had completed her training.  
She caught a glimpse of a familiar face in the crowd, with a red-headed Shi'ido in tow. She cowered against the dirt-stained wall, despite the fact they couldn't tell who she was with her cloak.  
Who was she fooling? He didn't know she was here because he didn't suspect that she was tailing him. If he became suspicious in the slightest, he would kill her!  
Hopefully.  
She looked down, gently stroking her bulging belly. They hadn't meant for this to happen. She hadn't so much as heard from him since their wedding night. She'd lost track of how long she'd been waiting; she only knew that she was due soon.  
When she'd discovered she was pregnant, she had used the communicator he'd given her to send him an emergency signal. She'd hidden her condition for as long as possible, then fled the Temple. She'd wandered Coruscant's streets as a beggar for months now, waiting, weakening.  
He never came.  
So now she was going to help Racara. Her gaze, formally gentle enough to be mistaken as naive by even the strongest of the Jedi Masters, was now cagey as a rule. Glowering at Drevon, she clutched at the vibroblade at her side as if it was her life preserver.  
Then she felt it.  
The familiar soothing presence, her solace, was nearby. Up ahead, she saw Jedi Knight Drevon whip around, startling the apprentice at his side. He sensed it, too!  
Her pansy eyes searched the crowd frantically. She _had_ to find him first! "_Yaaak_!" she hollered, risking public exposure and her own possible death rather than his certain one if Drevon found him. "_Yaaak_!" she yelled again. "_He knows you're here_!" Drevon turned, and their eyes met. Darkness fell, and she knew no more.  
  
Racara frowned, wondering what had come over her Master as he whirled about and ran back in the direction they had just come. Then she heard it.  
"_Yaaak_!" the voice cried. "_Yaaak_! _He knows you're here_!"  
Racara's naturally gray pallor turned ashen. She _knew _that voice—but no! It couldn't be! She sounded so weak, forlorn! What possibly could have happened?  
Her lime green eyes scanned the crowd, focusing on a gaunt, gravid, white-haired Human woman just in time to see her slump to the ground. From the corner of her eye she noted that Yak was surveying the area, trying to find a way to get to his truelove without Racara's Master seeing him. Racara had been with her Master a full year; but any loyalties she had to him were outweighed by the ones she owed that woman, the only mother Racara had ever known. Using her shapeshifting abilities to give her skin a natural tone, she elbowed her way through the crowd, her Jedi cloak and Padawan braid silencing any would-be inveighers.  
"Master!" she called. "Master!" Upon reaching his side, she grabbed his arm, yanking him away. "We should go!"  
Drevon shook her off, demanding, "Let me be!"  
Racara recoiled, aghast. "The Masters are waiting for us!"  
Drevon turned suddenly, his fierce gaze meeting hers. After several seconds, his mask returned, leading Racara to wonder whether Mana had been right about him being a Dark Jedi. They headed to the Temple; Drevon believing Racara had never seen the woman, unaware that she had already told his Padawan of his true colors…  
  
After the two Jedi had made their exit, a man approached the crowd. Eying his weapons array, they fell back, opening before him. One little child, in the midst of the confusion, was left in the middle of the passageway that appeared before this man. She stood absolutely still, whimpering in fear. The mystery man leaned down, asked her something, then looked around for the girl's mother, who she pointed out to him. He then picked her up, taking care to see that she had a tight grip on her stuffed bear, and carried her to her mommy, who was some distance away.  
The nerve-wracked mother accepted her charge gratefully, sniffling. She curtsied. "Thank you, sir."  
The man shrugged. "No big deal."  
"Oh, but it is!" the woman protested. "You are so kind—"  
"_Kind_, am I?" the man snapped, not angrily, but hurt. It was apparent that the mother had hit a raw nerve. Softly, the man explained his reaction. "Forgive me, madam, but I've known for months that my wife is pregnant, and just now have managed to get here. Had she stayed at the—where she was, she would've been blacklisted when they found out, for she married against their regulations, so _kind_ is not precisely how I feel right now."  
The young mother, determined to think good of him, tried to cheer him up. "But I'm sure you came as soon as you were able."  
The man turned away, attending to a cloaked insensate figure by the wall. Her bulging stomach looked far too big for her small, gaunt frame. Her white hair cascaded on the ground around her. He shook her gently. "Mana," he whispered tenderly, leaving no doubt on the young mother's mind that this unfortunate individual was his wife.  
Her violet eyes opened immediately. She attempted to sit up and get to her feet, but in vain. The months of begging on the streets had left her feeble. Using the Force, she had transferred whatever nutrition she had been able to receive to her child. Thus, while the fetus inside of her was of normal, healthy weight and proportions, she herself was wan and frail. She managed a wobbly smile when she recognized her husband. "What took you so long?"  
"Got stuck out by Kessel. Had to earn a new ship." As he said this, his wife wrapped her arms around his neck and he picked her up. "So, are we going to the Healers or—"  
Mana was furiously shaking her head, trembling and gripping him even tighter. "Not the Temple!" she faintly pleaded. "That life is over!" She snuggled against his breast. "This is my life now," she murmured, drifting off into the depths of childlike slumber.  
Keeping a wary eye on those around them, Yak carried his wife away from the scene. Nearly half an hour later, he boarded his ship, still bearing Mana in his arms. The vessel looked as if it belonged to a scrap heap on the outside, and the inside wasn't much better. Yak gingerly placed his wife on the hard bunk, suppressing a grimace. That needed cushions.  
He gave the ship a thorough survey, mentally noting everything that needed ameliorating. Conduits required covers, doors needed repairing, seats lacked safety nets. He might as well admit it—the entire ship could use revamping. Well, at least it didn't reek. He'd been in better-looking places that had seemed much worse just because of the smell.  
Yak opened his credit pouch, calculating how many of the homier changes he could make with what he had, leaving enough for their necessities. Not many.  
He sighed, putting his pouch back in its place. The young mother had been right; he _had_ come as soon as he could, but now Mana would have to cope with the dinginess he lived with regularly. She wouldn't leave him, he knew; but maybe it would be better for her if she did. She didn't know how to deal with the types he habitually associated with.  
There was a knock at his ship's entrance. Fingering his blaster and tensed to go for any other weapons as might prove necessary, he opened it. The young mother he'd helped before stood there, along with a handsome young man. Yak didn't relax, but just stood there, his eyes jumping from one to the other, although an astute observer would have noticed that while the gaze he gave the man was one of mistrust, he looked at the woman with a mild curiosity.  
The woman stepped forward, holding the arm of the man at her side. "Sir, this is my husband. He also would like to thank you for taking care of our daughter earlier today."  
Yak gave a terse nod. "You're welcome."  
The young woman spoke again. "He's a doctor."  
Startled, Yak's surprise showed in his eyes and the way he drew himself up suddenly. A wavering half smile crossed his features as he shook his head. "I can't afford—"  
The young doctor interrupted, "No need. Vell, here told me of your wife's condition, so I just brought a few things that might help." He gestured to the entrance. "May we come in?"  
Yak nodded, and stepped aside. The young couple's little girl smiled when she saw him, shyly keeping behind her mother's skirt. Yak led them to the bedroom where Mana lay. From the shocked glance the young doctor gave his wife, and the smile Vell gave in return, Yak could tell the doctor had not believed the extremity of Vell's report.  
"Well?" Yak asked anxiously, after the doctor had given Mana a thorough examination. "Is she all right?"  
The doctor gave a small shrug, placing about a dozen medications on the tottering desk. He gave his patient a perplexed second look-over, then shot Yak a suspicious glance. "One of you is a Jedi, aren't you?"  
Yak met the doctor's gaze squarely. "No."  
"No?" The doctor raised an eyebrow.  
His gaze didn't waver. "No."  
The young man scowled. "Strange…" He beckoned Yak to join him at the desk where he'd placed the medicaments. "These," he began, holding up eight different bottles, "are vitamins. Have her take them at mealtimes; at least once a day, but no more than thrice in twenty-four hours." He motioned to the remainder. "The rest of these have the directions on the containers. Have a good day, sir." The doctor and his family left.  
Yak, suspicious, started the preflight sequences immediately. By the time Jedi security showed up, he had already taken off and was on his way out of the hangar. He heard a muffled cry in the back as he pulled hard to starboard to avoid an incoming vessel. Once they were safely in hyperspace, he scurried to the back to help his wife.  
"Yak?" He could hear her pathetically feeble voice. "Yak!" she whimpered softly. "Come back!"  
"I'm right here, beloved." he gently soothed, taking her in his arms, helping her back up on the bunk. "Sorry about that. The doctor who stopped by called Jedi security; I guess he could tell from your condition."  
Mana nodded. "Force-sensitive people are harder to kill than normal ones."  
Yak was surprised. "Really? I thought that was just a Jedi thing."  
Mana gave a weak laugh. "Force-sensitive people mostly _are_ Jedi, darling." She used the same endearment for him as she had the children she had used to care for, but the way she said it was different. Yak couldn't quite place his finger on it, but somehow, somewhere, it was different. It may have been the vocal inflection, the expression on her face, or perhaps merely the adoration shining from her eyes as she looked at him, but he never could quite tell.  
He noticed that Mana had paled, and her breathing had quickened. "Beloved?" he inquired softly, concerned.  
"I'm fine," she faintly uttered between clenched teeth. "Muscle spasms. And yes," she added before he could ask, "I can tell."  
His brow furrowed, Yak considered another problem with caring for his family with his lifestyle: How would they nurture the child? Privately despairing, he admitted to himself that his asking Mana to marry him had been one of the most selfish things he could have possibly done…

Author's note:  
_Three _more chapters…  



	4. Chapter 3

× CHAPTER THREE ×

All was dark.  
She tried to alter her eyes to give them night vision, but she was so fatigued that she couldn't move, much less shapeshift. Racara felt like screaming, and knew she probably had, many a time, without realizing the screeches resounding in her skull were being vocalized. Her body lacked the strength to writhe in the physical anguish she felt. Her Master, after she'd confronted him, had tortured her with his lightsaber and had left her to die a slow, agonizing death.  
She was fifteen years old.  
Racara compelled herself to take deep breaths, ignoring, to the best of her ability, the searing throes she felt. Her mind drifted over her past; regrets, long kept hidden under her expressionless Jedi exterior, surfaced like geyser breaking through a planet's crust.  
She should've said good-bye to Yoda… Told the Masters what she knew, regardless whether they believed her or not… Attacked Drevon back when he'd gone after Mana…  
Recalling Mana, Racara winced. She never had opened that gift Mana had given her, the last time they'd met at the Temple, four years ago. Then, almost a year later, Racara had caught a glimpse of her. She'd nearly had to drag her Master out of there to keep him from hurting her.  
Three years had passed, and no one knew where Mana Lee had gone. The Masters believed she had been kidnapped, as a doctor reported having treated a woman of her description on a dilapidated private vessel. The doctor claimed the pilot had either been a bounty hunter or a scoundrel, judging from his appearance. Racara wondered how they explained Mana's pregnancy…  
She felt a surge of sudden vigor course through her veins. She got on her feet in one fluid motion, careful not to waste any energy in the process. She still had to get off world, regain her strength, and begin healing herself before she was too far gone, and died. She was near death already.  
Racara, supporting herself as much as possible with the slimy walls about her in the narrow alleyways, slowly, painfully made her way to a nearby bar. Even though she was so young, she entered.  
Using the backs of the chairs to help bear her weight, she edged into the nearest unoccupied seat. It was then she realized her problem: she'd gone blind.  
Racara's unseeing eyes looked down. She gasped as a huge weight fell on her chest, nearly crushing it. A massive fist enveloped her neck, and she felt her feet leave the floor. She heard a crowd of beings jeering at her, probably believing her to be some older individual trying to look docile.  
Racara allowed herself to go limp, having neither strength nor desire to fight. Her Padawan braid, separate from the remainder of her hair, fell free from where she'd tucked it away, prior to her fight with Drevon. Privately, she wondered how it hadn't fallen earlier…  
Silence ensued. The first voice she heard sounded timid. "I think you'd better put her down, Jeg."  
Jeg's response was a snarl. "An' why should I do that, Forn? I'm tellin' ya, he owes me money!"  
"You think Keil would risk hiding as a Jedi Padawan just to avoid paying your petty debt?" Forn's voice sounded stronger now. "Besides, since when did Keil hide as a girl? You know he can't sound like one."  
"I haven't heard this one make a noise yet!" Jeg growled.  
"That's because you haven't let her!" Forn shot back. "I say again, put her down! If it _is_ Keil, I'll _help_ you get him!"  
Black was dancing on the edges of Racara's vision. She couldn't black out! She'd never wake up! Gathering all the air she could into her damaged lungs, she let out an earsplitting and definitely female shriek.  
Startled, Jeg dropped her. She hit the floor and remained there, panting for air. Coughs racked her body. Her preceding wounds were brought back to fore, made worse by the throttling she'd received. Her eyes misted from the pain and she scarcely refrained from whimpering. She bit her lip so hard it bled.  
Disregarding the pangs, she got up, her body reacting sluggishly to the commands she gave it. Using the Force to locate their position, she faced the gathering. Despite her best efforts, a few tears fell from her eyes and she whimpered softly.  
A man whose voice she recognized as Forn's took her arm and assisted her to a chair, asking, "Are you all right, dearie?"  
"All right? Whatchya talkin' about? She's blind, you nitwit!" a new, younger masculine voice rebuked.  
Jeg growled, "_Keil_…"  
Racara heard the _clink!_ of a credit pouch being flung on a table. "There. That's all I owe you plus a little extra. Happy?"  
Rapaciously, Jeg totaled the credits Keil had given him. His fist struck the table, still too angry to be deprived of his projected quarry. "Give me double what's in the bag, and I won't touch a hair on your head."  
Keil snorted. "Uh, sure, Jeg! That'll be th' day! Th' day you refrain from beatin' someone up solely 'cause they meet your demands, I'll sell my ship an' retire."  
This declaration was met with jibes and taunts. From what Racara was able to gather, Keil was a good deal younger than the others here. How old that made him, she had no idea. The funny thing was, she had this uncanny notion that he was about her age…  
A table was smashed. Apparently, Jeg was making good on his threat. Luckily, Keil seemed to have ducked at the last second.  
Or maybe not so luckily… "Keil?" she cautiously ventured.  
There was a _smash!_ as Keil jumped back far enough so Jeg's fist went through the counter instead of him. "Yeah?"  
"You wouldn't happen to be a Temple castaway, would you?"  
"Nope." His nonchalant tone and the calmness with which he dodged the huge… whatever Jeg was, confused Racara. He claimed to have never been to the Temple, yet his self-control was astounding. That he was Force-sensitive, she was almost certain.  
Within a blink of an eye, the sound of flesh searing was heard, and Jeg was on the floor, howling. Racara deftly deactivated her lightsaber and hooked it back on her belt before Jeg realized she'd helped Keil.  
Keil sauntered over to her. "Thanks." He tossed some credits to the proprietor; probably Forn, she guessed, straining her ears for any hints she could gain about her surroundings. "Hey! Quit askin' her how she is an' get th' gal a bite t' eat!" Racara heard his clothes rustle as he shifted to look at her.  
She felt herself fading, her mind in a daze. A plate was set in front of her. She tried to pick up her fork, but her arm wouldn't move. "My arm…" she faintly murmured.  
Meanwhile, Keil seemed to grow anxious, probably after examining her condition. "Uh, guys?"  
"What?"  
"Yeah, what?" Needless to say, they didn't appreciate the youngster speaking to them as equals.  
"We need t' do somethin', fast! This gal's hurt real bad!"  
"Uh, sure."  
"Whatever, Keil." Their responses were detached, not really listening to him.  
"No, I'm serious!" Keil exclaimed. "Look at her! She's covered in bruises, an' those burns!"  
"What about them?" Jeg showed a drunken interest, having just been burned himself.  
He lifted the edge of Racara's tunic slightly, to get a good look at her side. "They're like what you have, Jeg, only these are pretty deep! It's as if she fought another Jedi who tried t' kill her!"  
Jeg, bombed, didn't respond. "Well," Keil muttered. "_I_ can do somethin'."  
He fed Racara, careful not to hurt her. A middle aged pilot jeered, "Ya're sure sweet on that chick, ain't ya, boy?"  
Keil shot him a peculiar look. "Not really. She's just a kid."  
"So're you!" he crowed.  
Keil raised one eyebrow and shook his head. "Whatever." A changeling, himself, he idly wondered how often the girl in front of him used her abilities. He almost laughed, suddenly realizing: _Hm. Let's see. She's really badly hurt, so a _doctor_ would probably be th' best idea._ Picking her up gingerly, so as to keep her injuries from becoming any worse, he left the bar and took her to the nearest hospital, all the while recalling the pretty credible saying that helping people was a good way to get one's own head cut off…  
  
Many light-years away, a man arrived home, later than usual. His wife was weeping into her pillow. He slid beside her, giving her a small squeeze. "What is it?" he murmured softly.  
His wife sniffled. "She's dying, Yak!"  
Yak frowned. "Who? Who's dying?"  
Mana, her eyes puffy with crying, looked at him mournfully. "Racara confronted Drevon, and she isn't going to make it! She's too weak to heal herself!"  
There was a pause. "Mana, can't you… give her strength somehow, to keep her alive?"  
Mana stared at him for a long moment, and Yak felt like a fool. After all, _he_ wasn't Force-sensitive. What did he know? Finally, she looked away, her voice hesitant. "I don't know if this will work, but I… I think I'll be sleeping in tomorrow."  
Yak sighed. Well, he'd _tried_ to help. "How long?" Mana always knew how long she'd oversleep, and invariably got up the instant she awoke. Yet another evidence of Jedi discipline that they had to keep under wraps so no one would contact the Temple.  
Mana fluffed her pillow. "Oh, probably a couple…" she snuggled under the covers, "weeks."  
"_Weeks??!!_" Yak started.  
"Um-hm." She gave him one of those smiles he adored, that had made him give her a second glance even when she'd been verboten territory; a Jedi. " 'Night, darling." She closed her eyes, serenely drawing a deep breath. "Tell Ronnie that it's Mommy who's on a trip, now."  
Yak nodded, swallowing painfully at this last reminder that in the four years they'd been married, she'd scarcely seen him. " 'Night, beloved." He cast a glance over his shoulder to their shared computer terminal, wondering if she knew of the message he'd received. If she did, which was very likely, that last statement was definitely a hint of what she wanted him to do about it…  
  
Weeks later, Keil and a young Shi'ido were chatting in the recovery room. She'd just gotten out of the bacta tank a few days ago, and seemed to have suffered some mental damage. She could speak and rationalize normally, but much of her memory was missing and she had difficulty with her motor functions. Her five senses seemed to be the only things in perfect working order. He handed her her old utility belt, the only thing she'd had that had been worth salvaging. Her tunic and cloak had been ruined, even their style unrecognizable, slashed in numerous places by some sort of energy weapon. Keil believed it had been a lightsaber, and had told the doctors such. They'd laughed at him.  
The redhead's lime eyes narrowed as she carefully examined the belt. "I'm afraid your lightsaber disappeared," he apologized. "Everythin' else is still there, though."  
Cocking her head to one side, she looked at him curiously. "My what?"  
Keil blinked. "Your lightsaber."  
The Shi'ido frowned, having no memory of the item. She shrugged. "Whatever."  
Keil had difficulty not goggling at her. A Jedi with no memory of her training? It was unheard of, but here one was, in front of him! He swallowed nervously. "Well?" he prodded  
She cocked her head to one side. "Well, what?"  
"Do you recognize th' belt?"  
She frowned, suspiciously eying the belt. "Should I?"  
He nodded. "Yes. It's yours."  
The girl nodded once in acknowledgement. "Oh." She placed the utility belt on the side table.  
Her lips quirked in the sly manner he was coming to enjoy seeing. _Okay, pull yourself together!_ he sharply rebuked himself. _She's what? Half your age?_ _You don't even know her name!_ He sighed inwardly. Okay, so he wasn't _that _much older than her; but still, she was just a kid, and he was… well, never mind what he was! His face darkened, his features contorting into a scowl. He'd been on his own for… a long time. If there were any memories of either of his parents, they were buried so deep that he couldn't access them even if he wanted to—which he didn't. Keil moodily twirled a credit chip in his fingers, brooding over all the times he'd been cheated, abused. He didn't let people get away with that, now. His eyes blazed with an inward flame.  
The girl gingerly placed her hand over his. Startled, he looked at her questioningly. "You mustn't do that," she whispered softly, her gaze troubled.  
Immediately protective, he took her hand in both of his. "I mustn't do what?"  
Her eyes bore into his. "Hate," she said simply. "You need to forgive those who have wronged you."  
Leaning back, Keil eyed the young Shi'ido before him. "What makes you say that?"  
She shivered, as if cold, but Keil sensed it was an inward chill. She tried to meet his gaze a few times, then gave up. "I don't know!" she finally admitted, exasperated. "But something tells me you need to control your anger. I don't know why, but it—it terrifies me, as if something happened to me because of it; something I can't remember." She shook her head. "It's weird."  
"I'm sure it is." Keil forced himself to relax, to not become wrathful towards those who'd hurt him; at least while around the Shi'ido. He frowned, hoping it wouldn't take too long for the girl to recover. As yet, no one knew so much as her name. In the meantime, he needed another flying job. He turned to leave.  
"Where are you going?" she asked anxiously, and, he thought, a little panicked.  
"I've got t' get back t' work. I'll come by again when I have a chance." Keil flashed her a grin. "Don't worry; I'll be back!" He departed, expecting to only be gone a few days…  
  
Yak stared despairingly at his three-year-old son, wondering how he would possibly communicate with him…

* * *

Author's Note:  
Two chapters… 


	5. Chapter 4

× CHAPTER FOUR ×

"Hey, Keil!" she hollered. "Pass the hydrospanner, will ya?"  
Keil handed the redhead the requested item, straining to get a glimpse of what she was doing. Lime eyes glittering, she whacked him upside the head with the hydrospanner.  
"Oh, no you don't!" she scolded. "It's a surprise!"  
"It's my ship!" Keil protested, all the while knowing it wouldn't work. The Shi'ido was quite a virago; she'd been assisting him on his smuggling runs for weeks now, and was as doughty as the best of them. Her motor functions had recovered within about a week of her leaving the bacta tank, but no amount of rehabilitation had seemed to have any effect on her memory. She still didn't know her own name. In fun, he'd called her "coral" because of her curly pate of red-orange hair. Without having anything else to call her, the name had stuck.  
After about a month in mental therapy with no response, he'd taken her with him as copilot. Together, they'd braved pirates and customs, gangsters and other bootleggers, all without the girl breaking a sweat. For some reason, however, all he had to do was get angry and she'd cower and bolt.  
Keil shrugged, yawning. After this run was completed, he had a little surprise planned. His eyes gleamed with anticipation, which he was quick to hide when "Coral" saw him. He chuckled softly to himself, as the Shi'ido made her surprise modifications to his ship. A smirk escaped his lips. She'd just _love_ what he had planned…  
  
"_Mommy!_" the little boy screeched. "_I want Mommy!_"  
Yak tried to console his son. "Mommy can't come. She's… away, right now."  
Little Ronnie's eyes bulged, and he started sobbing and screaming his head off; for what reason, Yak had no idea. At a loss, he stared at the child. Then, gradually, he came to realize what Ronnie's problem probably was; the boy didn't know who he was! Yak stooped down and gave the boy a hug, not letting him pull away. "I'm your Daddy," he whispered in his son's ear.  
The child froze, staring at Yak. A slow grin spread across his features and his eyes lit up. "Daddy?" he asked. "Really?"  
Yak nodded. "I'm really Daddy." He tried not to show the pain he felt at having to tell his son who he was. "_Now_ will you come with me?"  
Ronnie nodded eagerly, taking his father's hand. "Tell me a story!"  
"Tell you a story?"  
"Yeah! About where you been."  
Yak laughed nervously, shaking his head. "No, your Mommy wouldn't like that."  
"Why?"  
Enervated, Yak abruptly faced his child, pausing for a several seconds as he attempted to frame an answer. "Well, um, you see…" He gave up. "Mommy doesn't like my stories, so you won't either." A slight lie, but what was he supposed to say? That he'd been on Nal Hutta? Even Mana didn't know that!  
But then, Mana was _still_ asleep from that time, what? Over two months ago, now…  
"Where we goin'?"  
In lieu of answering, Yak asked a question of his own. "Do you know your name, bud?"  
His son nodded. "Uh-huh. It's Ronnie."  
"Do you know _my_ name?"  
Ronnie blinked, caught off guard, then frowned thoughtfully. "Hm… No, I don't think so."  
Yak nodded his approval. _Well done, Mana. _"We're going to my homeworld, and they're gonna treat us kinda funny, so be ready." Yak, unused to children, hoped he was speaking on his son's level. "Mommy's already there." _No use adding she's in a med center until she wakes herself up,_ he thought, a bit glumly. He _really_ missed his wife; especially now, when he was finally "cleaning up his act", so to speak…  
The three-year-old beside him tugged his arm. "Daddy?"  
"Yes?"  
"Where we goin'?"  
Yak sighed, trying to keep his frustration from showing. "We're going to my homeworld." _Well, I might as well tell him. I don't need to hide my past anymore._ "We're going to Alderaan."  
His son regarded him thoughtfully. "Alderaan," the boy repeated. "Does Mommy like it there?"  
Yak winced as Ronnie unwittingly hit a raw nerve. "I don't know," he honestly admitted. "I really don't know." Boarding the ship that would take them to the homeworld he hadn't visited in over a decade, Yak avidly hoped his wife would be happy with his choice…  
  
Exultant, the young Shi'ido whooped when she completed her task, one grimy hand pushing back a sweat-sodden strand of hair that had fallen in her face. Keil came running. "You done, Coral?" he hastily inquired, eagerly passing her to get a look at what she'd done to his ship.  
"Coral" stepped aside, her lips exhibiting a cunning half smile. She casually watched Keil as he carefully examined his engines. "Wrong thing," the Shi'ido stated detachedly, idly wondering if this was what Keil really looked like. A changeling, himself, he could appear any way he chose. Personally, she liked him as he was; his shaggy black hair hanging low on his forehead and covering his ears, giving him a scruffy appearance. His eyes were an unusual tone of hazel; more of an almond, actually. Fatigued, Coral decided to rest awhile.  
"I'm gonna go take a snooze!" she called as she went to her living quarters, in reality no more than a small, hard bunk in an old storage closet. But what did she care? Coral had no idea of what her previous life had been, but whatever it was, it must've been _filled _with self-discipline. She could sleep literally anywhere, eat anything, drink anything, smell anything… somehow, she could cut out her senses of taste and smell as if they didn't exist.  
Her strength and endurance were astounding, and she could easily recall things she'd merely glimpsed or heard in passing. It was quite fun, actually. She could pretend to be a dimwit while she was distracting customs _and_ keep an eye on Keil at the same time!  
She stifled a yawn, stretching out on her bunk. _I wonder what we're hauling on our next job?_ was the only thought she had before she fell asleep…  
  
"Lady Organa?" the voice asked. "Lady Organa?"  
She opened her eyes, immediately staring at the speaker. Without averting her gaze, she fluidly got out of the bed and on her feet. "Where am I?"  
The man in front of her licked his lips anxiously. "The AMC—that's the—"  
"Alderanean Med Center," she finished for him. "You're the doctor." It wasn't a question.  
The doctor nodded, nervous. "Yes, M'lady."  
Her gaze diverted momentarily, distracted by a ship passing by the window. Abruptly, her perusal was back on the doctor. "Where is my husband?"  
"The Prince has not yet come, my lady. He is still—"  
"On his way." She turned away, stepping out on the balcony just outside. The man was so simple-minded—his thoughts were rather predictable. _Too_ predictable, for her taste. She gave a curt nod. "Dismissed."  
The doctor bowed, then made his exit. Although her eyes seemed to be on the sky above, in reality her vision followed him. Once the door had closed, she allowed a troubled smile to cross her features. Her husband being an Alderanean Prince didn't surprise her—he'd told her about that. It was what _she_ hadn't told _him_ that worried her.  
It was what she remembered.  
It was what the Masters—what Drevon—_knew_.  
  
Ronnie had been fascinated by space travel. Yak chuckled as his awed son studied the view from the cockpit—even when it didn't change for six straight hours. When they stepped off, in Alderaan's capital, Alderr, Yak hesitated.  
"Where we goin' now, Daddy?" the little boy beside him asked eagerly.  
Yak paused before answering, deciding that matter, himself. "The palace. We're going to the palace."  
"We gonna see the king?"  
His father shook his head. "There is no king. Only a prince."  
"Oh." Yak couldn't tell whether his son understood him or not until Ronnie asked his next question. "We gonna see the prince?"  
Yak nearly burst out laughing, but was quick to stifle it, just in case. He didn't know how popular he was. It would be better to wait until he was secure in his position before he revealed himself, unadorned. He approached customs.  
"Please fill these out." The officer's tone was bored as he handed Yak the forms.  
_I would _really_ appreciate Mana's help right about now._ He filled them out as quickly as possible and handed them back to the official. "I'm in a hurry, so if you don't mind…"  
The man nodded, scanning the forms. "Got i—" The officer's face paled. "Can I see a proof of I.D., please?" he asked weakly.  
Yak reluctantly handed over his ship's documentation, along with a picture identification card.  
The customs official gave Ronnie a shaky smile. "Looking forward to visiting the palace, boy?"  
Fidgety, Ronnie nodded. "Oh, yes! We gonna see the prince, ain't we, Daddy?"  
The man chortled. "Oh, you'll see the prince, all right, boy. You'll see the prince." He turned his attention to the boy's father. "Have any pseudonyms picked out?"  
"I beg your pardon?"  
"There _is_ such thing as a legal fake I.D."  
Yak's surprise showed. "You're _offering_ to forge me an I.D.?"  
"No, I'm offering to get you a legal false I.D. That way, you don't wave the red flag to everyone you meet. It's a good security investment, too," the officer pointed out. "If you ever need to hide."  
Yak scowled, seriously considering the offer. He _had_ heard of legal false I.D.'s, but had understood their use to be exclusively for politic persons of importance. But then, that _would_ pertain to him, now, wouldn't it? "If I was to get one from you," he inquired warily, "how do I know you wouldn't sell my fake name to the highest bidder?"  
The customs official gave a tight smile. "If your name were to leak out, there would only be one possible source." He drew his forefinger across his own throat, leaving no doubt as to his allusion. "And silencing a talker is easier than you'd think."  
After much deliberation, during which Ronnie grew from being restless to being under the feet of passerby, Yak decided to accept the proffered I.D. For simplicity, he kept their names as close to the originals as possible. The new identification cards labeled them as "Jack" and "Ronnie Morgan". Yak frowned, considering what name his wife should have on her I.D., should they get one for her. Mary? Anna? Or maybe Donna?  
Yak shrugged. They'd figure it out when—if—they got her one. He took the I.D.'s, which were really genuine, albeit false. Nodding his thanks to the customs official, he took his son's arm and led him away. He paused upon seeing the signs of restaurants. Glancing back at his son, he declared, "I think lunch sounds good right about now, don't you?"  
After he said that, Yak had difficulty controlling Ronnie's excitement. His perhaps uncalled-for firmness came from his recalling that in the palace, a boy like Ronnie could be mollycoddled all too easily…  
  
The woman swiveled slowly, checking her appearance in the mirror. Her eyes expressed a frown as she perused her image. The gown she approved of; its style simple. It consisted of a halter top and proceeded smoothly down to formal length, no seams visible. The back was a bit low, for her taste, but it would do. The choice of the dress was not hers; the gown had been her mother's.  
The fabric was of two shades of shimmersilk; royal blue and pansy, the two dominant eye colors in her family. It matched her eyes perfectly. Her wavy, naturally white hair, another family trait, complemented it well. The family hairpin, also of the strong, deep tones of blue and violet, held her hair out of her face. Otherwise, her tresses fell unhindered to her waist.  
Cocking her head to one side, her gaze kept its clement appearance as she shrewdly considered what she needed to complete her attire. She blended two colors of eye shadow and lipstick to get the desired shade, then applied the resulting cosmetics with care. Personally, she thought she looked overdressed, but this was her heritage. As only known survivor from her home planet, Mana felt it her duty to keep up with what customs she remembered…  
  
"Where we going?" she whined, trying to pry her copartner's hand from over her eyes. "Tell me!" she demanded, switching to another tone. "Where we going?!"  
Keil bit his lip, unrelenting. He had hoped that she'd wait a little longer before using this approach, because after this, the contest began. They each would use their shapeshifting abilities to try to best serve their respective interests; her to discover where they were headed, and him to keep her from doing so. Keil was extremely fatigued, and knew if they competed, he'd give out fast.  
"Coral," he began, hesitantly. "I've really gone through a lot of trouble t' make this a surprise, an' I'd feel pretty badly if it was ruined. Would you keep the lid on your curiosity awhile? _Please_?"  
To his surprise, and great delight, Coral nodded. "All right."  
Grinning, Keil guided her back to their lounge. "Thanks!"  
Coral gave him an odd glance. "All you had to do was ask."  
  
Yak struggled to get the garment on his son. "Ronnie, hold still!" he ordered irritably, in vain. Suddenly, an idea hit him. "Do you want to see the prince?" he asked.  
Ronnie hopped up and down in his excitement. "_Yeah_!"  
"Then be still. You aren't going to see the prince if you don't wear this."  
"Why not?"  
Yak thought fast. "Because… we need to look nice so we'll be allowed in the palace."  
"Oh." Ronnie obediently held up his arms to be dressed, his dark brown hair a bit shaggy._ That could use a decent cut._ When his face appeared over the shirt, Yak was struck by the boy's royal blue eyes, much like Drevon's. Yak shook his head. _That's absurd!_ he scolded himself. _The very idea_—he froze, noticing for the first time how much his son resembled the Dark Jedi. He blinked, dumbfounded.   
His expression darkened as his incensed gaze swept the room. Mana was going to have some major explaining to do, as in _major_ explaining. Somehow, Yak doubted Ronnie's being a mini Drevon was a coincidence…  
  
She loved the garden.  
Mana closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, all the scents around her combining into one, heavenly aroma. It was so relaxing, she could almost forget this load she bore…  
But only almost.  
  
Yak and Ronnie entered the palace atrium. Ronnie loved it, immediately taking off after passing butterflies. Yak, still brooding over his earlier observation, missed the garden's beauty in his earnest desire to 'have it out', so to speak, with his wife.  
When he found her, his first thoughts were of his tender love for her and appreciation for her stunning beauty. Then his mind took charge, and his anger rekindled.  
Mana straightened suddenly, and he knew she'd sensed his mood. She turned. "Yak?" Her voice sounded as winsome as he remembered it. "What's wrong?"  
Squelching his ardent desire to hold her, he regarded her. Deliberately taking his time in his approach, he asked, in a soft tone, "Why are you wearing that color?"  
Mana frowned, perplexed. "What color? The violet?" Yak slowly shook his head, his eyes never leaving her. "The blue?" She obviously didn't understand his problem. "Yak, what?"  
Considering her with the same, steady gaze, he quietly inquired, "Mind explaining why your son looks like a mutual acquaintance of ours?"  
The blood drained from Mana's face. Blinking back tears, she asked, hurt, "_My_ son, Yak?"  
"_Your_ son, Mana. Interesting how closely Ronnie resembles Drevon, don't you think?" His tone left no doubt as to what he believed on the matter.  
Tears streamed down Mana's face. Her voice wobbled. "But not because—" She turned away suddenly. When she spoke again, her voice was hushed, but strong. "You have every right to be angry at me; I haven't been completely honest with you."  
Yak nodded tersely, his eyes following Ronnie. "I can see that."  
Mana shook her head. "That's not what I meant, Yak." She sighed, her expression woebegone. Her voice was hushed. "Yakrino…" She stepped up beside him, not letting him move away. "Ronnie takes after his uncle."  
  
"Hey, Coral!" Keil called. "Ready t' go?"  
"Well, I _think_ so…"  
Keil's lips quirked. "Kinda hard without knowin' where we are, huh?"  
"My thoughts precisely." Coral finally joined him at the airlock, wearing her shoddy black flight suit. She had knapsack dangling from one shoulder, and was wearing her old utility belt; the one that had been salvaged from her past life. Keil noticed a pyramid-shaped box he didn't recognize dangling from the belt.  
"What's that?" he queried, curious.  
"Hm?" Coral followed his gaze. "Oh." She shrugged. "Don't ask me. It came with the belt."  
"You ain't gonna open it?" Keil took her knapsack from her and let her lead.  
Coral nodded. "Already did. Has two purple Adegan crystals in it. Don't know what to use them for yet, but might eventually."  
"I see your point." They stepped off the landing platform. Coral took a quick scan of the street before turning around to assist Keil with their luggage. Keil shrugged her off. "I got it!"  
"Where we stayin'?" Coral fell into stride beside her partner.  
Keil nodded towards the rich side of town, near a mansion that seemed like a palace. "That way," he panted. The air was thinner here than he was used to; the city was on top of a mountain. He focused on altering his lungs until he could breathe easily. _That's better._  
"What planet is this?" Coral inquired.  
"Alderaan. This is th' capital, Alderr."  
"Really?" Her surprise showed.  
Keil nodded. "Yep. Th' planet's currently undergoin' a government switch over; th' royal family's been ousted an' a new leader's coming in. Ironically, this 'new leader' is really a member of th' old royal family who disagreed with his family's policies an' has been in hidin' for at least a decade."  
Coral frowned. "But wouldn't that undermine the attempt to dispose of the royal family?"  
Keil flashed her a cocky grin. "That's just it; th' people don't mind th' system, they just detested th' previous rulers." He held up two pieces of flimsy. "You know what these are?"  
Coral shook her head, studying them intently.  
"They're two tickets t' th' new leader's inauguration dinner."  
Keil watched in enjoyment as the girl beside him gaped, goggled, and beamed. She grinned at him. "You know what?"  
"What?"  
"I _love_ your idea."  
"That's great!"  
"There's just one problem."  
Keil's lightheartedness deflated. "What?" he asked cautiously, a bit reluctant to hear the answer.  
"What will I _wear_!" she wailed, wringing her hands in mock despair. Keil knew her well enough to know that she was poking fun at aristocracy, while making her own point in the meantime. She couldn't possibly go to the dinner in that ratty old flight suit!  
He gave her a consoling shoulder pat. "Don't worry. I'm sure we'll come up with somethin'." They reached their hotel, a rather affluent one. Keil had reserved a single two bedroom suite. As she unpacked, Coral considered what she'd wear to the dinner, too preoccupied to notice a little flicker in her mind…  
  
"_What??!!_" Yakrino Organa was dumbfounded. He turned away, shaking his head. "I'm so sorry, Mana! I can't believe I did that!" He looked back at her suddenly. "Drevon's your _brother_?" he asked, knowing full well what her response would be. "Unbelievable!" What an incubus his wife bore!  
Mana was studying him intently. At least, he thought it was him she was perusing, but with her Jedi skills, he couldn't be sure. She could be studying something that wasn't even in his general direction for all he knew. "Is something wrong?"  
His wife kept gazing at whatever it was she was looking at, not responding.  
He moved beside her. "Mana?"  
She blinked once, her eyes immediately concentrating on him. "Yes?" Her tone was neutral.  
"Are you all right, beloved?" Yak's worry evinced itself in his gaze and tone of voice.  
Mana nodded. "I think I'll go visit a luncheonette, if you don't mind. I've not yet eaten."  
"Just don't ruin your appetite for the dinner tonight. You _are_ the prince's consort, you know." Yakrino's smirk betrayed his serious tone.  
It was then that Ronnie realized his mother was present, and he rushed into her arms. "_Mommy_!"  
"Ronnie!" She picked him up, giving him a hug, then put him back down. He complained. "Mommy's hungry, Ronnie. Let Mommy go eat, okay, darling?" Mana blew her husband and son each a kiss as she left. "Mommy'll see you two later. Why don't you get settled in? Our domicile is marvelous!"  
Once Mana had left, Yak turned to his son, who was still moping. "Hey, bud! Let's go check out your room, ay? C'mon!" Leading his son away, Yak looked forward to the banquet that night. Still, he couldn't suppress his fear that his wife would be the laughingstock of the court, as she'd never been taught how to act in genteel society…  
  
Coral and Keil were about to go clothes shopping when a package arrived. Instead of the name of the receiver, the label had a physical description: Shi'ido, with vermilion hair and lime eyes.  
_ That describes Coral, all right_. Keil rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Ain't you gonna open it?"  
Coral shrugged. "I guess so…" she said hesitantly. Reluctantly, she opened the box, lifting out a stunning lime green dress that matched her eyes, along with corresponding sandals and mesh stockings. There was a barrette that matched her dress, as well as several cinnabar bobby pins the color of her hair.  
Keil was the first to comment, "Maybe there's someone here you used to know."  
Coral rolled her eyes, taking another outfit, this one for Keil, from the bottom of the box. If the person had tried to do the matching they'd done with Coral's outfit, they'd failed miserably. Still, the deep russet lizard skin suit and boots _did_ accentuate how purely black Keil's hair was, and didn't detract from his scruffy look. Everything was of the highest quality.  
Keil grinned, taking his getup. "Guess we don't need t' go shoppin', huh?"  
Coral scowled. "I don't like this."  
"Aww, don't be a worrywart. They're a lot nicer than what we would have gotten on our own, an' there's that dinner tonight."  
"But—"  
"Just shut up an' wear it!" Coral's reluctance was making Keil irritable. "It was free, which is more than I can say about you!"  
He regretted the words the instant he'd said them, but the damage was done. Coral, hurt, locked herself in her room, so she wouldn't have to see him until the banquet. Keil mentally kicked himself. Here he was, with a perfectly nice girl, the first of her type he'd ever known to be able to abide with his lifestyle, and he had to alienate her. Then he remembered what she'd been in her previous life, and wondered if maybe keeping her at arm's length wasn't such a bad idea, after all…

* * *

Author's Note:  
_One_ more chapter! :)  



	6. Chapter 5

× CHAPTER FIVE ×

She'd been dead for over a year.  
Her eyes misted as she read the Jedi record. They hadn't even tried to find her! Disgusted, she tossed the datapad aside. To think that the Masters had been stupid enough to take _his_ word and leave it at that! She sighed, wondering what she'd do now…  
  
On a balcony above, a woman watched the girl as she meandered through the atrium. A man stepped beside her, laying his hand on her arm. She turned, and followed him inside.  
"She'll get over it. Just give her some time," the man advised.  
The woman sighed, reclining on a love seat. "I know, darling" she admitted, "but I can't help feeling responsible, that there's _something_ I could have done to prevent this."  
"Mana…" Yak leaned in front of her on the settee, planting a kiss on her forehead. "It wasn't your fault and you know it." He moved so he was sitting behind her, embracing her.  
She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "Yak?"  
"Yes, beloved?"  
"What _can_ Racara do?"  
The pain was evident in Yakrino Organa's features as he responded, "I don't know, Mana. I really don't know."  
  
In the palace atrium, Racara had come to a stop in her wanderings under an apple tree. It was spring, and the tree was in bud. _It's like a new beginning_, she mused. _Like a new birth. In winter, the tree appears dead, but in reality it lives, although none can tell. In the spring, its life becomes evident to all who see it._ The Shi'ido thoughtfully fingered a blossom. _That's what _I _gotta do_, she realized. _I'm already 'dead'; even if I went to Coruscant the Masters wouldn't believe who I was, so _I_ must wait for _my_ spring, whenever that will be._  
She frowned. _But what if _now_'s my springtide? What if I miss my time to 'revive'?_ She shook her head. _No, I won't overlook it. The Force will lead me. _"Nothing happens by accident," she told the blossom in her hand, as if it could understand her. A breeze whipped her hair and trousers, and she let the wind carry the flower away. "I'll wait for my wind," she murmured. "I'll wait for my wind…"  
  
Author's Note:  
_Review!_  
I've been patient, haven't I?!  
;)


	7. Chapter 6

Author's Note:

Thank you, MusicDreamer! Here's another chapter, just for you! (This way I don't have to worry so much about the not-even-near-complete next part until I get enough reviews to carry me through this part—and at the rate this is getting reviews, that should give me some time.)  
I know my children are unrealistically mature, but please consider 2 things: most aren't Human & most are Force-sensitive.  
Enjoy! :)

* * *

Part II: Heather

* * *

× CHAPTER SIX ×  


Her breathing quickened as she practiced, but she didn't gasp. The Masters would count that against her.  
It would have only served to tell her opponent how weary she was becoming, anyway.  
Sweat poured down her face through her blindfold, stinging her eyes. She risked a moment to swipe her face with her sleeve. Her adversary gave a triumphant cry, and pressed his advantage.  
She recognized the voice as Terr, a Human boy three years her senior. _Must be hard for him, knowing his next birthday will make him too old to become a Padawan, but still competing with us younger students._  
Heather sighed, allowing a nostalgia for the nursery days to pass over her. At least there, she could—she clamped down on the thought. The Masters kept an extra-close eye on her, because some fellow students claimed she used the Dark Side. They couldn't be more wrong.  
But they were unnervingly close.  
The nine-year-old wistfully considered telling the Masters of her secret. She knew it was nonsense. She could never tell them; she didn't know enough about it, herself.  
She absentmindedly parried a blow, twisting her wrist sharply to loosen Terr's grip on his lightsaber, then proceeded to skim his neck with her blade, winning the bout. It was times like this that Heather missed Yoda's quiet observation, that she liked so much more than the shouts and cheers from the other students. Of all the people in the Temple, only he had ever known her secret; what she knew of it, anyway.  
Yoda'd been picked as a Padawan already. Heather shook her head, wondering what was to become of the Jedi. Their 'reign' had only started recently, but already she could sense corruption snaking towards it. Mana had known of it, she knew.  
She also knew where Mana had gone.  
Heather enjoyed learning, and would often study on her own. That was how she'd known who Mana's sweetheart was; after all, he _had_ built the Jedi Temple. When she'd heard a report that Yakrino Organa had returned to Alderaan with a wife and young son, it didn't take much brains to put two and two together.  
She ran her fingers through her waist-length pale brown hair. Privately, she was glad of the color, as plain as it was. It made her look… average. Her eyes were a very Human-looking brown, but she wasn't Human.  
_ That_ was her secret.  
She didn't know _what_ she was.

Instructors (cont'd): Jedi Master Woseet  
Jedi Knight Imon  
Jedi Knight Garnin  
Librarian: Jedi Master Lami  
Security: Jedi Master Aneer  
Jedi Master Orant  
Jedi Knight Drevon  


_ Vreep!_ She quickly stopped the information scrolling across her viewscreen. What were the Masters thinking? _Him_ in Jedi security?  
She rubbed the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. Without glancing at the chrono she knew it was past curfew. The data she was looking at could have easily been regular files except for one problem: they weren't the current or past assignments; they were _future_ ones. It had taken Heather nearly an hour to hack into them, and almost as long to find what she was looking for. If she were caught with this file on her computer, she was as good as expelled.  
Yoda had always said her doing this wasn't worth the effort. Heather, however, had never given up, and her gamble had finally paid off. Her wrist against her keypad, she gripped the data disks firmly in her hand. Drevon would be hard-pressed to defend himself, once their contents were in the open.  
Heather's wrist tapped her keypad as she considered if it would be worth the risk. Knowing what she did, she ran no small hazard to her life if she confessed what she knew. For a fleeting moment, a rueful expression crossed her features. If only she had told the Masters what she knew sooner!  
She sighed. There was nothing she could do about it, now; the past was in the past. But Racara was dead, and Heather couldn't help but feel at least partially responsible.  
Someone was coming.  
Heather deleted the file from her computer and shut it off, grabbing a hydrospanner and sticking her hands in a jar of old grease. She managed to start fiddling with the astromech droid strewn across her floor barely in time as the door swished open.  
Heather squinted, looking up at the intruder. Inwardly, she gulped. _Master Aneer!_ "Greetings, Master!" she said cheerily, as if she hadn't a clue that anything could possibly be wrong.  
Without commenting, Jedi Master Aneer, head instructor, stepped over, taking the hydrospanner from her hand in the meantime. He hit her upside the head with her tool.  
"_Ow!_" she cried, not needing to fake that one. It stung!  
"Perhaps that will teach you to keep an eye on your chrono, young lady. Curfew was nearly two hours ago." Master Aneer's voice was cold, stern.  
"Well, you did not have to hit me!" she sniffled, making herself start to cry. "You just had to tell me!"  
"And so I do, Heather. Forgetting curfew once in a while I can understand, but _this_," Master Aneer thundered, "_this_ is the third time this week! Now into bed!"  
Heather, realizing playing stupid wouldn't get her out of this one, hastened to do as he said.  
Once she was settled in, he made his exit. At the door, he paused, turning around. "And _if_ you so happen to try this again, you will be given a _formal_ reprimand by the Masters." The way he said _formal_ made it sound like a death sentence. Coming from him, it probably meant _expulsion_. At long last, he left.  
Heather sensed him retire to his own room. Once there was no awake person within ten yards of her berth, she pulled out a palm light and journal from under her covers, hastily scribbling:

_NEW Jedi Security: Master _  
_ Knight DREVON_  
_ Masters Aneer & Orant_  
_ Librarian: Master Lami_  
_ Instructors:…_  


Heather squinted in the dark, although in reality she sensed, rather than saw, the person she was tailing. Who was she tailing?  
If only Mana had known…

* * *

Author's Reminder:  
Please review. 


	8. Chapter 7

Author's Note:

Well, I've been gone awhile; but I'm back, now. Had a writing ethics crisis over the summer, so nothing's gotten worked on & Real Life's on full throttle. Does anyone want this updated?

* * *

**× CHAPTER SEVEN x**

_Welcome to Alderaan. If you require assistance, the information booths are marked with large, pansy-colored flags. Enjoy your stay!_

She stood staring at the sign for what seemed like hours. The customs officer would glance at the little girl every so often, but she still stayed where she was. She didn't even seem to move. The man sighed, and left his booth during a lull in his shift.

"Hey, kid, you all right?"

The girl's gaze turned on him, unwavering. Other than that, she didn't acknowledge his question.

The official tried again. "What are you standing here for?"

The child finally blinked, much to the man's relief. Her strong, brown eyes, however, were the only things that moved, taking in his features. A zephyr had displaced some of her bleached mid brown, waist-length hair, which gracefully framed her face. He noticed an unusual marking on her hair clip. He wanted to ask her about it, but thought better of it.

"Can I help you, kid?"

This seemed to arouse the girl. "Yes, actually. Who made that sign?" She motioned towards the sign which had kept her attention for the past several hours.

"Who made that sign?" The child nodded her assent. "I don't rightly know. Why do you ask?"

The girl's gaze skimmed the object once more as she replied, "I believe I recognize the handwriting."

"Really?" the officer was surprised. "Well, if that's the case, you'd be better off asking Lady Organa. She's the one who arranges such things." He noted that the juvenile brightened at his mention of the Lady. "I'm sure your parents could get a pass to visit the palace."

The girl's eyes dimmed. "I do not have parents," she said softly.

"Of course you do! Everyone has parents!"

"Family of any kind is left behind when a child is taken to the Temple." The girl's voice was flat, not revealing any emotion.

"You're a—a—" The man was startled. "Where's your Master?" he finally asked.

Her fixed gaze fell on him once more. "I have no Master."

"But Jedi children never leave the Temple unless they're a Padawan, and Padawans have Masters."

"I am not a Padawan." Her eyes narrowed, and he got the impression that she was scolding him. "I was expelled." The girl vanished, leaving a very confused customs official in her wake...

* * *

Yakrino Organa hated babies.

Oh, they were cute, sure, but they were _so_ messy!

At least Vici didn't upchuck on him, as Ronnie had done. "Mana!" he complained. "She won't eat the yogurt!"

"Then give her the broth!"

"Didn't you say that was for when she was sick?"

"That would be why she isn't eating the yogurt!"

Personally, Yak thought his wife's answer didn't make much sense, but what did he know? He shrugged and fed his eight-month-old daughter the soup.

Mana entered the room, wearing a cyan swiss décolletage he'd gotten her for their anniversary. The flare sleeves ended on her mid-forearm; a style which, to Yak, made her appear younger. She wore it as a day dress, refusing to wear such a garment in public. 'Many women view me as a potential role model,' she had said. 'If I was to dress as a coquette, where would that direct them?' For someone without proper schooling, she sure had a vocabulary!

Mana gave Yak a little peck on the cheek. " 'Morning, darling." She turned to their daughter. "Hey, Vici darling!" Her voice took on a motherly tone. "Not feeling well today?" She placed her hand on Vici's forehead. "Ooo! That _is_ hot!" She addressed her husband. "Guess we'll have to call the doctor—"

"_Vroom!_" Ronnie stormed in, a model ship in hand.

Mana deftly caught a rocking lamp, placing it back on the coffee table, while scolding, "Ronnie! You know not to run in the house!"

Without missing a beat, the five-year-old replied, "But this isn't a house; it's a palace!" Immediately, he was back to playing. "Oh, no! Hyperdrive's gone, Captain; what do we do?" He made his voice deep. "We parley, son." Now Ronnie sounded shrill, imitating a girl's timid voice: "But what will they do to us? I couldn't stand seeing you hurt, I just _couldn't_—" Ronnie broke off abruptly when his father grabbed the model from him, smacking him upside the head.

"_Ronnie!_" Yakrino Organa thundered.

Ronnie cowered, shielding his head. "I'm not afraid of you!" he weakly declared.

Yak motioned to Mana, and they quietly discussed the matter in voices too low for him to hear. After a few seconds, his parents turned away from each other; his mother preparing to take his baby sister somewhere, and his father regarded him coolly.

"Ronnie," he said slowly, "what did you do wrong?"

Ronnie shrugged, playing innocent. "I don't know, and _you_," he started sniffling, "you _hit_ me!" He began crying.

Yak glanced at Mana, who made a face. He nodded his acknowledgement, then squatted to be on Ronnie's level, his voice soft. "Your mother can tell when people lie, you know."

Ronnie sobered immediately, staring his father in wide-eyed dismay. "You mean—" Yak slowly nodded. The five-year-old goggled at his mother. "She can't tell!" he averred. "If she could, she would've known when—" Ronnie clamped his mouth shut and refused to respond to any more of their questions.

As punishment, Ronnie was locked in his room and ordered to remain there for a week. Once the maid had been given the necessary instructions for giving the boy his meals, Yak took his daughter to the doctor, with plans to pick up his wife from the library afterwards...

* * *

Keil's day hadn't been lousy; it had been dreadful!

He sighed in frustration as _another_ client walked out, dissatisfied. Once Lady Organa had helped Coral regain her memory, her outlook on life had made an abrupt turnaround. Coral had used to be fun, poking jokes and helping him on his old flying jobs. Nowadays, the only subject she expressed any interest in was her 'spring' or 'wind', whatever that was. She never made sense, anymore... Not that Jedi ever made much sense.

With Lady Organa's gentle prodding, he'd quit the smuggling business and was currently working for a smalltime parts dealer. The place was in complete disarray, without any attempt at neatness. Often, potential customers would take one look in the door and leave. Keil had _told_ his boss they needed some sort of organization system, so they'd know what they had and where it was, but Niz wouldn't listen. 'If the people want somethin', _they_ can find it!' _Right_, Niz.

Keil impatiently waited for the chrono to admit his shift was over. He had half a mind to quit this job—_more_ than half a mind! The only thing that kept him from it was, well, Niz had known his parents... One got the idea. He was reluctant to quit because Niz had been an old family friend. Keil snorted. _What am I, gettin' soft?_ He chortled. _Probably._

It was time.

Keil whipped out of there, even more eager to leave than usual because of his immense disappointment. At least two dozen people had stepped in today...

He almost bowled over a little girl who'd just entered. "Oh! I'm sorry!" he apologized. Then he realized she'd count as a potential client. Inwardly, Keil cursed her for not coming sooner, before his shift was supposed to have ended. Probably sounding like a viper, he asked, "Can I help you?"

The little girl just stood there, observing him. The most unnerving thing about it was she didn't even blink!

Nerves taut, Keil suddenly clapped millimeters from the girl's nose. She didn't bat an eyelid, her bright, dark brown eyes the focal point on her otherwise fair-toned face. Her hair was a blanched brown.

He yelled, "Hey!" really loudly in her face. No response.

He sidled to the next aisle over and shoved the shelves. Components fell, but the child didn't so much as flinch, the parts missing her as if some sort of invisible barrier surrounded her.

Her eyes followed him the entire time, and Keil felt extremely awkward towards this little girl who was behaving more like a holo or a droid than a living being. Standing in front of her once more, he scratched his head, wondering how to get through to her.

It was then that she asked, mildly, "Am I done being a lab animal, yet?"

Keil chuckled slightly, a mild grin making it to his face despite his uneasiness. "I guess so!"

The girl displayed a momentary slim smile, then returning to her state of expressionless observation. "Good. It was beginning to get on my nerves." Interestingly, her voice didn't have the sour tone normally associated with that statement, but sounded as if she was commenting on the weather. Thus, it was impossible to tell if she was serious or not.

"Can I help you?" Keil asked again, still aware of the time, but no longer cursing her in his mind. He was too curious for that, now.

Her lips quirked, and she shook her head. She looked down momentarily, opening her mouth as if to say something; then shut it, thinking better of it.

"Well..." Keil guided her out of the store. "If you don't mind my askin'... what are you?"

"That is a good question." Her tone was sedate, but he thought she was being sarcastic.

"No, I'm serious! What are you?"

"And _I_ am serious. That is a good question. It is one I have pondered for as long as I can remember."

"You don't know what you are?"

The child shook her head, her step faltering momently. Keil got a whiff of food cooking from a nearby restaurant. He eyed the girl, noting things he hadn't noticed before.

Her chemise and trousers were shabby; her feet bare. She wore a hand woven rope girdle. He also glimpsed a utility belt, which she had tucked under the fold of her tunic, as if to hide it. Her face was borderline rawboned, and overall, she seemed scrawny. Her unkempt waist-length hair, with wisps falling free from her hair clip, didn't help her appearance, either.

Realizing she hadn't eaten in a good while, he offered to buy her dinner. Something told him that asking about her parents wouldn't be the brightest idea...

* * *

She spent all her time in the garden, nowadays.

In the garden or babysitting.

Racara, now seventeen, sighed. She really did enjoy watching Ronnie and Vici, and it helped Mana and Yak. Mana had spent her whole life fostering children, anyhow; she deserved a break!

But every time Racara saw Ronnie or Vici, she was reminded, painfully, of what she'd never have: a family.

She knew that since they believed her dead, technically, she was no longer subject to the Order and its regulations. Still, she couldn't bring herself to neglect her upbringing, which demanded she be sedate and detached.

Recalling her crush on Keil when she'd been 'Coral', she smiled ruefully. At her age, most girls were eagerly getting and ditching boyfriends, hormones out of whack. Personally, her little fling for Keil had ended the night of that inauguration banquet, when she'd recognized Mana. It had scared Coral, knowing Lady Organa's name and such without having any memory of seeing her before; especially when no one else had known the Lady's given name!

Running her hands along her sides, Racara felt the long-forgotten pyramid-shaped box she'd received all those years ago. _Six years_, she thought sadly. _And look where I am._

Her eyes began to get warm, but didn't get beyond that. She didn't let them. Jedi didn't cry.

She opened the box, and two purple Adegan crystals fell into her hand. She knew what they were for, now. Holding them up to the sunlight, she examined them closely for flaws, already envisioning the new lightsaber she'd build with them...

* * *

Author's reminder: Please review! :)


	9. Chapter 8

Author's Note:

Sorry about the previous lack of paragraphs. :faceembarrassed: ;)

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◊ CHAPTER EIGHT ◊

"All right! I'm done enterin' it in! Put it with th' others!" Keil crowed when they'd finished organizing the store.

The little girl, who he now knew was named Heather, stood on her tiptoes to put the 0-7-5 G series coolant system on a shelf. Usually when someone was in her position, they staggered, but if he knew one thing about Heather by now, it was that she wasn't ordinary. Not even borderline…

Heather turned sharply, but gracefully. All her movements were fluid, reminding him of Lady Organa and Coral. But whatever skill those women had, Heather surpassed them, each motion blending into the others, inseparable. Occasionally, she would do something suddenly that didn't fit with her smooth pattern, but that was rare. Keil still hadn't asked her about her parents, but from what he'd seen, he was able to guess that she was another Temple castaway, like Coral.

"Is that all?" the nine-year-old asked, fixing her hair with grimy hands. She didn't seem to mind grease and grit. Sometimes, Keil had to remind her to wash up!

"Yep, that's all. Finally!" Letting out an inflated huff, he collapsed absurdly into the chair behind the counter.

The usual luster of her dark eyes brightened, and she smiled. Keil had the impression he was being granted a glimpse of a side to her that rarely surfaced. Casting her head back in a stagy manner, she flung her hand up in the air, saying in a prissy voice, "Oh! I am _so _tired, Keil! I have absolutely _slaved _over that computer all day!"

"An' I've been luggin' components all over th' store an' stackin' them!" They both burst out laughing, for they'd reversed their actual roles in those statements. Keil had carried the heavier things, of course, which were few; but Heather couldn't reach the new computer to enter the items. Somehow, she'd convinced Niz to straighten up the store. From the rumors he'd heard concerning Jedi, he was perfectly content not knowing how…

Abruptly, Heather straightened, her face hardening into a mask. Her eyes widened, and if Keil hadn't known any better, he would have called the expression one of fear.

He only had a mere second to glimpse all of this, and the girl vanished into thin air.

Keil started, beginning to look around for her, then stopped, realizing that wasn't a good idea just as a man walked in the door.

He was first struck by the man's eyes, which were of a deep, strong, blue. Royal blue, wasn't it? Those eyes were piercing; and, although they were too dark for that, when they looked at him they reminded Keil of ice…

The second thing he noticed was how much like Ronnie Organa the man appeared. Surely the Lady hadn't—

Suddenly, he realized one more thing: _The man resembled Lady Organa!_

"Can I help you?" Keil put on his servile smile and bow that Lady Organa had coached him on and that he and Heather had recently practiced, offering each other tips.

"Yes, please. I need an oh-seven-five gee series coolant system; if you have one, that is." The man's voice was colder than his eyes.

Keil nodded. "Oh, we have them."

There was the sound of something falling in the back aisle, the one furthest from the counter. The man whipped about, his hand on his belt, probably near a weapon. "What was that?"

Keil shrugged offhandedly. "Probably my girl. She loves tech stuff, so I let her look 'round all she wants while I'm workin'." He didn't see any point in mentioning that his 'girl' was a youngster he cared for, not a girlfriend.

He strode over to the shelf where Heather had placed the coolant system minutes beforehand. He handed it to the customer while he maneuvered behind the counter. "Here you go, sir. That'll be…" he keyed the item in the computer, "seventy-five credits."

Without a comment, the man wrote out a credit voucher, took the item, and left.

Once the man was out of view, Keil scratched his head, remembering that they'd had more than just one of those coolant systems earlier…

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When Ronnie's grounding was over, he ran out of his room into the living room, catching the tottering lamp himself. It was then he noticed that he was alone. "Mom? Dad?" he called. No response.

He stepped out in the hall, looking both ways. Even the security and attendants were gone!

Then he heard the screams.

He jumped, and ducked behind a small table, gasping in fright. Ronnie plugged his ears, trying in vain to block out the sound. Footsteps hurried his way.

He cowered against the table, making himself as small as possible. Racara appeared suddenly, grabbing his arm and dragging him away, her jaw set.

"Mom?" he whimpered, pleadingly.

The Shi'ido's voice was terse. "She's delusional. C'mon." Her tone left no room for argument.

"What's de—de—"

"Delusional. She's crazy."

When Ronnie heard that, he fought with all he had. "_Mom_!" he cried. "Let me go! I want Mom!" Suddenly his face stung, and the room whirled. He felt Racara pick him up. "_Mom_!" he cried once more, giving up when he realized that fighting the Shi'ido was pointless. "Mom," he whimpered, softly, as they left the hall; the door, once closed, blocking out any trace of Mana's screams…

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Mana Lee Organa thrashed, shrieking and screeching unintelligibly. She did, in fact, sound insane.

Yakrino Organa stood at her side, his face dour. He'd tried to get through to her, but she didn't seem to know who he was. The attendants and security were convinced she'd gone daft, and Yak was loath to agree with them. She was sweating up a storm, and at this moment was gripping his shirt front and shaking him as if pleading; for what, none could tell.

She released him, falling hard on her knees. She moaned something that sounded like _die_ or _tie_, they couldn't quite tell. Mana wept; something Yak was close to doing, himself.

That morning, he'd awaken to Mana's tossing and turning, moaning in her sleep. Believing her to be having a nightmare, he'd prodded her, only to have her twist suddenly, eyes blazing, and wham him across the chest. He winced, massaging the bruise. She'd done a 'good' job.

At that moment, someone entered. Yak sighed, frustrated. He was having a hard enough time keeping the people present from calling a psychologist; he didn't need anyone else!

"By the Force!" he heard a blessedly familiar voice exclaim. "Lady Organa!" Keil stepped forward, gesturing placatingly. "Chill!"

Yak noticed a little girl at Keil's side. Her head was cocked to one side as she frowned, listening to Mana's inarticulate cries. He was about to ask Keil about her when the child's dark brown eyes, her most striking feature, brightened momently. She stepped forward, tapping Mana, who was still on her knees, on the shoulder.

"_Tee yan may_?" To everyone's surprise, Mana nodded in a desperate manner. Yak noted that the 't' sounded a little like 'd'.

"_Sock! Aye yan may key_—" Mana broke off, surprised the girl understood her. Everyone realized it was a _language_ Mana had been screeching before, not gibberish, and those who'd insisted Yak call a psychologist felt guilty.

"What are you saying?" Yak murmured.

The girl's face didn't flinch. "She is concerned for or about someone or something."

"What?"

She gave him an incredulous look. "Give a girl a chance to ask, would you? I have said at total of three words to her." The child turned back to Mana. "_Tieyin jave aye_. _Aye tie doe ayen sheev_. _May key horkan_?"

Lady Organa smiled and replied, "_Aye may key _zo." She shuddered. "_Zo_ _lind zov_!"

"Drevon's on Alderaan, and she's worried about him contacting the Temple," the child told Yak over her shoulder. "_Tieyin may_. _Zo tieyin rahn key tee_. _Aye quick zo_."

Mana's relief was evident. "_Shawn, _Heather."

"_Sheen_, Mistress L—Lady Organa." The girl, apparently named Heather, smiled, but painfully.

Yak took the girl's arm and guided her from the room. Keil followed. "How do you _do _that?" the changeling inquired. "First, you disappear into thin air. Then, you—"

"Keil!" She interrupted him, her irritated tone making her point with ease: _shut up_!

Undaunted, Keil continued, although he skipped over some of what he'd been planning to say. "An' now, you're speakin' gibberish with a lady who knows perfectly good Basic!"

"_Used to _know Basic, you mean." Heather's voice was hushed. "She does not, anymore."

"Why not?" Yak's voice was sharp, suspicious of the girl, although he was smart enough to figure out she was probably from the Temple.

Her wearied gaze fell on him. "Mana has a parasite that blocks the mind and memory. You are pretty lucky. If whoever it was had left the parasite alone, Mana would have total amnesia. As it is, the culprit is a Force user who wanted to make all of you think she was crazy."

"Why would they do that? Wouldn't have been easier to just let her have amnesia? It would have the same effect on all of us!" Yak was a bit skeptical of the girl's conclusions.

"Easier, yes; but only if it were the _others_ who the individual was interested in harming. How would you feel if everyone considered you crazy, but you were _not_, and you were unable to tell them otherwise?"

Yak had paled. "Of course," she continued. "Once the person realizes you _can_ communicate with her, he will probably 'release the bull', if you take my meaning."

"What about—can't she—can't she be healed, somehow?"

Heather looked down, one bare foot fussing with the carpet.

"Heather!" She turned towards him. "Will my wife recover?"

The girl answered reluctantly. "She will have to heal herself."

"And?" Yak prodded, his patience gone.

"I do not know how to tell her what is wrong with her."

"Just say, 'You have a parasite in your brain.' That's it!"

Heather closed her eyes, sighing. "Sir," she said softly, "I do not know the words for 'parasite' or 'brain' or even 'heal'." Her dark eyes, woebegone, met his. "And there is only one more person who, to my knowledge, speaks this language."

"Who?" Yakrino Organa was getting sick of the girl's 'beating around the bush'.

Her voice tight, she sighed again. "Drevon."

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"What are you going to do to me?" Ronnie asked, a bit fearfully.

Racara's fluorescent green eyes narrowed. "I don't know what happened to Mana, but I'm not letting it happen to you. I'd get your father out of there, too, but he won't leave your mother."

"What about Vici?"

"We're going to get her."

Ronnie was quiet as the Shi'ido hailed a cab. Opening the door, Racara hissed, her right leg buckling.

"What is it?" the boy asked innocently.

"Nothing!" she snapped. She was obviously under extreme stress. She yanked on his arm. "Get in!"

"I'm getting in!" he complained.

"Where to?" the cabby asked gruffly.

"_Shishan_." Racara answered absentmindedly, not paying attention.

The cabby gave her a strange look. "What was that, again?"

"Pediatric hospital." She didn't even notice that she'd just given their destination in two languages.

Ronnie noticed, however, and gulped, wondering if Racara had the same problem his mother did…

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Inside of a particular 0-7-5 G series coolant system, two minute larvae hatched, one knocking a diminutive switch, igniting a fuse…

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From the way Heather picked at her dinner, none could tell that she was actually quite hungry, having not eaten all day. Yak's shrewd questioning, however, dampened her appetite. She tensed, and glanced around for a chrono. "What time is it?"

"It's seven o'clock. Why?" Yakrino Organa's sharp voice was filled with mistrust. Heather couldn't blame him.

She shrugged. "Just wondering." Her mind worked fast. Seven o'clock… They had been planted at four, would have hatched around six, and had a one-point-three hour fuse… Heather did the math.

_Twenty minutes!_ She gagged, choking on her casserole. Jumping out of her chair, she spit the food into a napkin on her way out. And she still had to find the—to find _him_! She groaned aloud. Yoda was right; she _was_ an idiot!

Ignoring everyone's cries, she raced down the hall, jumping out a window into the garden, and dashed out of the palace. Hardly a ghost of a wind disturbed those she passed. Once she made it to the bazaar, she slowed down abruptly, controlling her breathing and blending in with the crowd. In less then a second, she'd switched from sprinting to sashaying.

Heather cast a cagey glance over her shoulder as she turned down an alley leading to the city's slums. Within view of a lively bar, she began acting as if she was looking for someone she knew. "Dad?" she called, knowing there was no father to answer her. "Dad?" Her brow was furrowed, and her face showed fear.

The masquerade had the desired effect. A few persons of descriptions that Heather preferred not thinking about showed up.

"Lookin' fo' yo' daddy, sweetie?" A scantily clad woman asked, putting her arms around the girl. Heather, nearly gagging from the woman's rank perfume, nodded. "What's 'e look like?"

Heather made herself tremble as she gestured. "H—he is t—tall, d—d—dark haired, w—with d—deep blue eyes." She gulped, as if nervous. "He was supposed to come for me!" she wailed. "He left me at the library and never came—" She broke off suddenly, an impassive expression momentarily passing over her features before she started sobbing. "He never came back for me! He never—" She buried her face in the woman's skimpy shirt, saturated with the offending perfume.

The woman's hand, loaded with tawdry rings, stroked Heather's hair. "Theah, theah…"

Heather felt the woman trace the design on her hair clip. The woman suddenly held her at arm's length, and squatted to be on her level. Was it her imagination, or did the woman's eye just gleam knowingly?

Whatever it was that the woman knew—or thought she knew— she obviously had enough sense not to parade it in front of the others. She beckoned they go inside. "I'll 'andle this 'ere youn' 'un." The woman led Heather to a side alley, out of the bar's view. "So, Miss…" Here she paused, as if dredging up a memory long kept buried. "Miss _Ornar_, what brings ya t' this side o' town?"

Heather blinked. Ornar? Where had the woman come up with that? Unless… She reached up and tapped her hair clip, asking, "_Morn lin ayen sheev_?" This tells (of) my parents?

The woman frowned, and Heather knew her poor grammar was evident. "If ya be askin' if I know yo' family from that clip, then _sock_, yeah. Ya _still _ain't told me what ya be doin' 'ere."

"I am looking for my father."

The woman raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? Tell me, Ornar, d' ya even _have_ a daddy?" Her gaze pierced Heather's. "I tho't not. So, ya be lookin' fo' a friend."

Heather hesitated. "Not exactly…"

The brow went up even higher. "An enemy, then?"

Heather got indignant. "I did not say that!"

"No, sweetie, ya _tho't_ it. An' that be all I need t' know." She got up, taking Heather's hand and leading her away. "Ya kin call me Banni."

_Banni? _Heather thought, wondering if that was her real name. _Nee_, she knew, meant _royal_ or _royalty_, but she didn't know what _ban_ meant, if anything. "I am Heather. Heather Ornar, apparently. I… messed with something that belongs to the man I am looking for, and must find it before it… causes harm." _Oh, _that_ sounded normal!_

"I see."

_Probably more than I want you to,_ Heather realized. _You are my species._ "What am I?" she asked suddenly, not really meaning to say anything. She recalled Keil's question: 'What are you?'. She hadn't been able to answer him.

"Fallanassi."

Heather stopped, staring in disbelief. "You are kidding." She looked away, then back at Banni. "I mean, I know you are not, but—_Fallanassi_?" Heather had heard of Fallanassi; they were a supposedly mythical species that everyone believed to have died out centuries ago, if they'd lived at all. Like the Anzati.

Heather suppressed a shudder. Oh, she knew _they_ weren't gone… While she'd been thinking this, Banni had kept walking, so Heather trotted to catch up. "Where are we going?"

"Wheah ya want." Banni didn't seem too happy to be helping Heather. In fact, she seemed to resent it.

"You do not have to help me if you do not want to—"

"That's th' problem!" Banni exploded. "I _do_ have t' help ya 'cause if I _don't_, I'll git in trouble w' th' Circle! So _shut up_ an' folleh, an' I'll take ya wheah ya need t' go. After that, ya be on yo' own!"

_What's the Circle?_ Heather wondered, but she knew better than to vocalize this thought. _Banni… 'Nee' probably means 'regal', for she can't be royalty because she wouldn't have to help me if she were… 'Ban'… _Her eyes widened with the surfacing of a memory. '_Ban' means 'slave'! She's a royal bondservant!_ She scowled. _Or a noblewoman that's a slave._ Her eyes narrowed as she decided to keep a close eye on 'Banni' from then on…

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Jedi Knight Drevon plugged the new coolant system into his ship. He grinned wickedly. Soon, Alderaan's pathetic scoundrel of a prince would be in the midst of a scandal big enough to sour the planet's reputation for centuries.

His dark blue eyes dimmed momently, reminded of the little Temple brat he'd let slip. She was one of _them_.

Drevon's lips curled into a snarl as he clenched his fist, envisioning what he'd do with that _ban_ if she led Ornar to him. She'd have to, he knew; she was bound to that despicable family.

So he'd just handle the two of them.


	10. Chapter 9

Author's Thanks: to **Jedi Knight Padmé**!

**JKP** - :) Thank you. blushes I don't think it's that good, but if you say so… There will be more Yoda in Part III: Hanna.

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◊ CHAPTER NINE ◊

She coughed. "Wh—?"

"Sh. Careful." A hand brushed her damp bangs back, off her sweaty forehead. "You got pretty torn up, kid." The man's voice was gentle. "You really got t' be more careful."

She opened her eyes, but everything was one big blur. "What—" she choked.

A hand was against her forehead. "Don't speak. Just nod. You remember noticin' Drevon?"

She nodded, suppressing another cough. Boy, was her chest torn up!

"He recognized your barrette. He decided t' make good on his promise from that time you an' Banni… When Yoda came lookin' for you an' surprised Drevon, lettin' you two escape." The man sighed. "I don't think he liked that Racara came back t' tell Mana how t' heal herself, either. She's in the next room."

"Mana?" she asked quickly, choking on the name.

"Fine. Racara kept him from th' Organas. Vici's provin' t' be th' prime little nurse. Yak's off t' Coruscant t' make sure Jedi Security gets those data disks of yours. Where did you get— No. On second thought, don't answer that."

She _ahemn_ed. "It is all right, Keil. I am much better now." She shook her head, her long, unraveling braid falling over one shoulder. "I got the info myself. I have been a hacker since…" She thought about it. "Actually, I do not remember a time when I was not prying my way into things I was not supposed to." She grimaced at an unpleasant memory. "Even when I was supposedly in the Temple nursery twenty-four, seven."

"What happened?" he asked gently.

"Oh, the usual. I sneaked out to a public computer terminal; found what I was looking for—in this case, a bounty hunter that a Master was after; and went to investigate his current abode. After all, who suspects a little gamine to be dangerous, right?" She snorted. "He was an Anzati."

Keil looked at her, shocked. "Anzati _exist_?!"

"You bet. He almost got me. He was pretty hungry." She was disinclined to offer further details, and her friend didn't ask for them. After a moment's pause, she continued. "That is how I got the info on those data disks. I often followed Drevon."

"Why does he hate you so much?"

Heather sighed. "That," she said simply, "is a _long_ usual story." She coughed.

Keil straightened with worry. "Oh! I'm so sorry! Here I am, askin' you questions, when breathin' probably hurts you!"

She passed him off with a wave of her hand. "You are exaggerating my condition, but I do need rest." Her eye twinkled as she gave his hand a slight squeeze. "Tell Racara I am betting I can recover before her."

The changeling frowned. "You're competin' over how fast you can heal?"

Heather raised a sedate eyebrow. "Do you have a better suggestion that will keep us in bed long enough to do so?" Without waiting for an answer, she settled into a meditative sleep…

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Waiting patients watched in shock as the little girl calmly wiped up blood from the room's tile floor. A patient had come into the emergency waiting area with several gashes, most of them in places that liked to bleed. Chatting with the waiting individuals, she'd immediately gotten a rag and bucket and started cleaning the mess…

The door opened, and her elder brother came from checking on their friends. He stopped, jaw dropped. "By the Force! What are you doing?"

"Cleaning," his sister simply replied, not even grimacing as she wrung out the blood-soaked towel. "How are Racara and Heather?"

"Racara's okay, and Keil won't let me near Heather. I'd bet my pocketknife he's sweet on her."

"He's only nine years older than her," the six-year-old observed. "That isn't that big a deal, is it?"

Her brother sighed, shaking his head. "When will you ever learn?"

"Being eleven doesn't make you an adult."

"And being six doesn't make you Jedi!" he snapped. "What is it with you? You're just like Racara!"

"Thank you, Ron."

"That wasn't a complement!" Ron barked harshly. "I'm sick of this! They wait for him to come after them, and won't go _for_ him!"

"Anger is a tool of the Dark Side."

"So? There has to be _some_ right in using it, to get rid of someone like _Drevon_!" he spit out the name with much spite.

Young Vici looked at him as she docily cleared the last of the mess. "Be glad you aren't Force-sensitive." She stood, taking the bucket and going into the Employees Only section—the AMC staff had accepted her as an apprentice, of sorts. After all, the Alderanean Medical Center _did_ rely on her parents for funding.

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Mana hummed as she chopped vegetables for dinner's soup. Naturally, the palace did have a cook, but she didn't like employing him for her family's day-to-day fare. She liked to show her love to her three children, and this was one way she did it.

She coughed. Hm. That sounded like it was in her chest. Maybe she should see a doctor about it.

Mana shrugged, absentmindedly handing her youngest child, Veni, a piece of nerf to snack on. She didn't like doctors. It would have to be one serious condition that would send her to a hospital, and a cough wasn't serious.

She _would_ keep an eye on it, though.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The woman before her moaned. She took a warm damp cloth and put it on her patient's head.

As she'd half expected, her action woke her patient. The woman tried to sit up.

The little nurse put a small hand on her chest. "No," she said softly. "Rest, Racara. We're all fine, thanks to you."

Racara opened her eyes, looking at the speaker. "Vici…" she said hoarsely.

The child stood. "Want some water?" The Shi'ido nodded. Vici took a thermos, putting the straw within easy reach of Racara's mouth. "There you go." She smiled brilliantly, sitting at the end of the bed. "Heather's made a bet."

Racara thirstily gulped half the liter container. "Yes?" Her voice still sounded forced.

"She thinks she can heal before you."

The former Jedi Padawan closed her eyes. "She's probably right."

Vici looked worried for a long moment, then brightened. "Well, you can _try_ to beat her, can't you?"

"That I could," Racara admitted, her voice having a bitter twang. "But I doubt it." Her face was lined with pain. "Thanks for the water."

Vici nodded, watching Racara intently as she entered her meditation-sleep…

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The fifteen-year-old Heather sat, back straight, on her bed's edge, carefully testing and stretching an arm, making sure her three weeks' rest had been long enough for it to heal.

"I have been in bed so long that I am bed sore!" she complained. She sighed, dropping her arm. "And poor Racara is still recovering."

Keil nodded, standing stiffly. "That's too bad," he consented. "I'm sure she's sorer than you."

Heather gave a half nod, dropping to the floor. A good head shorter than himself, she was short, period. When she'd sat on the bed, her toes had scarcely reached the floor. She tried to circle around him. "What are you hiding?"

The changeling looked at her innocently. "What?"

"I am not stupid. You are hiding something."

Keil shrugged. "Aww, it's nothin', _really_…" She stood in front of him, examining him in that same unblinking manner that had so unnerved him the first time they'd met. "It's just I got this reservation t' th' Golden Palace, an' thought you might like t' eat there for your recovery present…"

Heather blinked, surprised. "No."

He smirked, knowing precisely what she was thinking: _How in the galaxy could you afford that??!!_ The Golden Palace was run by the Organas' own chef when his services weren't needed. It ranked among the most expensive restaurants on the planet.

The Fallanassi looked at him oddly. "Why did you do that?"

"Well…"

"Yes?"

He shrugged. "I just wanted t' do somethin' special for your third survived encounter with th' guy who keeps tryin' t' murder you."

Her gaze didn't waver for several seconds. Then, she said lightly, "Well, if you are serious, we had better go get dressed." The Golden Palace was a highly formal eatery.

Keil hid a smile, knowing Heather well enough to doubt whether she _had_ any formal clothing. "If you don't have anythin', I'll dress down."

She turned her head, looking straight at him. "Do not do anything of the sort. I _will_ dress properly." With a bearing befitting an aristocrat, she left.

Keil frowned thoughtfully, wondering how Heather _would_ dress…

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Looking in the mirror, Heather smiled mischievously as she gave her silky-smooth hair one final pat. It would be fun to see how Keil reacted to her lack of frizz. It would undoubtedly surprise him. And her dinner gown…

Her eyes gleamed, running her fingers down her sides. She'd never worn a dress before—until now, she'd stuck to the Jedi-style tunic and trousers, although she'd toyed with the shades of brown. She'd never worn a color before, either. Should she try makeup, too?

No… no need. This would already be an interesting evening.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Keil stood in a formal suit at the restaurant's door, waiting for his colleague. He hoped he didn't look as uneasy as he felt.

A lovely young lady tapped his arm. "Sir?"

"I'm sorry, miss. I already have a companion." He didn't look at her too closely, still searching the crowd for Heather…

The young woman wouldn't be so easily dissuaded. "Perhaps I could help you find her?"

"No, thank you, miss."

"Are you _sure_ of that?"

"Very much so, t' be honest, miss."

She turned away, quivering. He stepped over to her. "Are you all right, miss?"

A silently chuckling Heather met his gaze. "I was about to ask you the same question!"

Keil stared, dumbstruck. His incredulous gaze scanned her. The young Fallanassi looked every bit the upper-class aristocrat. Her smooth, elegant pompadour was held by a clasp covered with the same fabric as her attire. The satin gown and jacket suited her perfectly. Their pale blue was the exact shade needed to complement her seemingly blanched brown hair. The gown followed her body's graceful curves, even through her tiny waist; something he'd never noticed before, with her habitually loose clothing. He felt himself crimson.

"Is something wrong?" she asked innocently.

"Um… no, not at all," he mumbled, beckoning at her to enter before thinking to offer his arm.

She took it regally. "Thank you, Keil." Her dark gaze scanned the room lightly. "Where are we sitting?"

He led her to their reserved table, helping her into her seat. He glanced at her feet, expecting to find them bare, as Heather disliked shoes. To his surprise, she wore espadrilles of the same material as the rest of her attire. He'd never realized how miniature her feet were.

"Do you like them?" She turned an exquisite ankle at an unnatural angle to show him the shoe's bottom, which had been woven of identically colored taffeta. "I made them myself."

"They're lovely," Keil said awkwardly, not really knowing what else to say. It _was_ the truth, though; they were charming. It was just… uh, she wanted complements on her _shoes_? —But then, she scarcely wore them…

A waiter came with their menus and silverware. Dressed impeccably, he stood tall, a cloth napkin like those he placed on their table on his arm. "Can I get you two something to drink?"

"Certainly, if you would be so kind as to wait a minute." Heather's keen gaze rapidly scanned the menu's beverage section. She glanced at Keil. "I think tea would be nice; cinnamon, if it is available." Tea was among the lowest-costing beverages.

"An' an ardee for me." He turned to Heather. "Now what t' _drink_?"

Heather's face colored prettily, gaining a rosy tint. "Tea is fine for me." His frank stare led her to offer, "Corellian ale is supposed to be good."

Keil nodded to the waiter. "Add one bottle of that an' one bottle of Ithorian white wine." He reclined easily, looking at the couples around them. Most were necking, or holding hands, or something of the sort. He smirked, viewing in his mind's eye what that would look like with him and the former Jedi student. _How absurd! _Suppressing a chuckle, he scanned the menu for what to get…

Heather nudged his arm, looking at her menu. "What is nerf?"

"A delicacy. It's considered one of th' best foods in th' galaxy." _She's never heard of nerf?_

"Hm." She thoughtfully reviewed a few possible entrées. "What are you getting?"

"Red wine fondue, with all th' cheeses." He pointed to it on her menu.

"Could I get crêpes?"

"Certainly." He found himself examining his companion. She'd draped her jacket over the back of her chair, revealing her dress to be sleeveless. Her fair-skinned shoulders smoothly curved down to her arms, whose womanly shape gave no indication of the superior strength he knew they owned…

Heather looked at him oddly. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You're pretty," he said directly. "I never noticed that before."

She nodded, passing off his comment as she addressed the just-arrived waiter. The young woman didn't even give him the chance to ask. "The crêpe sampler, please, if you do not mind."

Keil told the waiter what he wanted, then sipped the ardee the man had brought him. Using her quick, skillful fingers, Heather fluidly put her tea to brew. She didn't seem to think anything peculiar of their outing.

The changeling held both bottles of alcohol. "Corellian ale… or Ithorian white wine. Which do you want t' try first?"

Heather's eyebrows raised. "I thought you wanted something for yourself, not something to get you imprisoned."

Keil laughed. "C'mon! Like you're even Alderanean!"

"I am still a minor," she said tersely, sipping her tea. "Just us eating together would be deemed illegal if we did not work together."

He leaned forward. "But you ain't Human."

"No, but I live as one."

His lips quirked. "You still ain't, though."

The Fallanassi sighed slightly. "You may be right, but I do not know the rules for my species."

"Then make them up."

She tensed, gradually lowering her teacup back to the table. "I hope," she said slowly, "you are not hinting what I think you are."

"An' what am I hintin'?"

Heather's face was a mask, and she did not reply. She redonned her jacket, crossing her legs underneath the table.

Keil drew a sharp breath, realizing what she saw. He gave an embarrassed laugh. "That wasn't what I was thinkin'."

"Oh?" her voice was dry.

"I was referrin' t' havin' a drink, not… Not me—uh, that's a bad start…"

"Not the two of us having an intimate relationship."

Keil reddened. "I wouldn't ask for that, anyway."

"Assuming you were interested."

He hesitated, reminded of his earlier idiotic conception. When he thought about it, he almost wished she _would_ think that way of him. They got along so well… "I guess." He leaned back. "Which did you want t' try first, now?"

Heather looked straight at him. "Keil, I have to wonder if you are either deaf or just downright pushy."

"Oh, it's all in your head. Which one did you want, again?" He held the bottles, preparing to open one.

The Fallanassi rolled her eyes. "Whichever one you want," she sighed resignedly. Surprised she'd given up so easily, he poured her a glass of white wine just as the waiter returned with their viands.

The young lady took an experimental sip. "Rather biting, is it not?"

"That's the alcohol."

"Ah." She gave the waiter a slight smile as she took her plate. "Thank you, sir. It looks delicious."

Both thoroughly enjoyed their meals, even though they ended up splitting them with each other. Heather, jacket off once more, decided to let her emotions surface… After all, she was already experimenting.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Laughing merrily, the twosome got out from the cab about a block from their respective destinations, which were in opposite directions.

"Let me walk you home," the young man said, taking her arm with one hand, his other arm clutching two half-full bottles of alcohol.

The even younger lady laughed. "What's wrong? Think I can't find it on my own?"

For some reason, her statement alarmed her partner. He gave her a stern glance. "Are you drunk?"

She giggled, ending in a small hiccup. "Nope!"

"I don't believe you."

"And why do you say that?"

"You never use contractions."

She poked him in the stomach. "_You_ never stay out this late with young ladies. Are _you_ drunk?"

"No."

"Well, I'm not either!" Giving another careless laugh, she started walking towards her apartment. The young man gave a quick glance around the darkened streets, and followed her…

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

When they reached her building, Heather drew a sober breath. "Here we are." She turned to Keil. "I must ask to take leave of you here."

Keil blinked, doubtless surprised by her abrupt behavioral turnaround. Blinking again, he nodded, turning to leave.

Heather walked up the steps slowly, mentally reviewing that night. Reaching the top of the stairs, she yawned. She couldn't recall staying up this late, before, nor feeling so… How did she feel about tonight? She turned, her sharp gaze finding the changeling easily. "Keil!" she called.

He turned, looking up at her on the balcony, her hair and skirt fluttering in the faint breeze.

She had to be honest. "Thank you for taking me out! …I enjoyed it!"

Keil nodded slowly, then turned back, plodding home…


End file.
